Byron's Legacy
by SallyCarefree
Summary: Time has passed. But when June calls for help, Neal will return to New York without hesitation. He has to solve a crime and might need the help of his friends. As a rule of thumb, criminals are not very forthcoming when someone is nosing around. Warning: Guns & Whump in later Chapters Now complete, read last chapter to learn why Byron's legacy will leave Neal lost for words
1. Enter Priest

I haven't written anything in a while. Hope you will like it...

However, you read it at your own risk. It's not beta'ed. If you can't stand unbeta'ed stories, stop here. I don't want to annoy anyone.

The same goes for the chapters that will follow.

 ***** Story starts below *****

'Yes, Father! Mrs. Ellington is one of our patients. You will find her in room 1207.' The grumpy senior nurse couldn't help it, but a smile has crept on her face while talking to the priest.

'She's very tired today. Earlier this morning we did a couple of examinations, and now she's exhausted. Actually, I'm a bit surprised by your visit. She hasn't told us that she called for spiritual care. The resident priest of our hospital has offered to visit her already. However, Mrs. Ellington wasn't interested.'

The priest, who had introduced himself as Denis Jardin, was middle-aged, tall, slim. He wore a black clergy collar shirt with matching black pants that gave him quite a serene look. The gray streaks of hair and the short beard looked decidedly attractive. Not to forget the charming French accent. Even the horn-rimmed glasses were no turn off. Was swooning over a priest a sin? She smiled when thinking about going to confession next Saturday.

Truth be told, she could understand why her patient preferred Père Denis Jardin to the sturdy hospital priest who surely loved to hear the sound of his own voice.

The nurse opened the door to a spacious room to let the priest in. Right next to the window was a bed, and in the bed there was the fragile, but even after all the time, so familiar friend whom he considered his saving grace.

June was asleep. The monitoring screens showed steady curves. Reassuringly, the blood pressure just like the oxygen saturation values were displayed in bright green colors. Nevertheless, a look at the tiny body and the sunken face were proof that the old friend was not really well.

The priest took a chair, put it next to the bed, and sat down. 'I wait until she'll wake up. There's no need to hurry. I would appreciate some privacy for our conversation if that's possible.'

The nurse offered him to join her for a cup of tea in the reception area to help pass the wait. Father Jardin declined politely, took a bible out of his bag, and started reading. Obviously dismissed, the nurse left the room a bit disappointed.

Twenty minutes later, June Ellington woke up. Like usually, she needed a moment to come by and remember that she was in a hospital room - not at home. Looking around, she stared at the priest reading his bible. An amused smile lighted up her face.

'A priest, really? Isn't that a bit too much, Neal? Even for you...' It was only a hoarse whisper, but Neal Caffrey understood every single word.

His blue eyes were sparkling and this grin a tad mischievous. 'God bless you, my daughter! I got your message. You called for me. Here I am. Father Denis Jardin, at your service! If you want to give a confession or need spiritual advice, I am your man. Though, I'd rather suggest we start with a glass of champagne before Nurse Ratched comes back to crash our party!'

After being treated like a sick patient in recovery for weeks on end by doctors, nurses and family, June appreciated Neal chatting to her just like every other day.

He unpacked actually a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes wrapped in a cloth napkin from his huge briefcase.

Neal had carefully chosen flutes made of thin glass, and he filled June's flute only with a few sips of the bubbly liquid. He was aware that she might be too weak to hold a heavy glass.

A moment later, they clinked glasses to celebrate the moment in silence. Just the way it is with good friends they could talk for hours without running out of conversational topics or they could sit in silence without being bored.

After enjoying her champagne treat, June pointed to the bible. 'What's that with the bible? You're impersonating a priest quite convincingly. Tell me the story behind Père Denis Jardin.'

The bible was actually a rare print that had disappeared mysteriously from a private collection years ago. Allegedly it has been owned at one point in time by no-one less than President Lincoln. Neal was tasked to return it to its rightful owner by a benefactor who'd preferred to stay anonymous. He 'found' it in Barcelona after an elaborate investigation. A girl, a European aristocrat – who turned out to be impoverished as well as married - plus an unlucky love affair had been involved in the taking. Though, after all these years someone seemingly wanted to amend the wrong. Now, Neal was planning to return the Holy Book to the private collector from New Jersey who reported it missing.

June enjoyed the entertaining story, even though the part where Neal had recovered the bible stayed a bit blurry. But she was too wise to ask for details.

'And how did you come up with this new alias, Denis Jardin, ordained priest?' June was curious because this alias was very different from any other Neal had used so far.

Neal chuckled. 'Father Denis is actually a living person, a very good friend of mine. He's a priest serving in a little village in the South of France. He likes old wine, good food and endless philosophical disputes. I met him when I did some research on rural ceiling paintings 5 years ago. We became friends.'

As usual when talking about his friends, Neal's eyes got a warm glow. The real priest had a sense of humor you wouldn't expect to find in a man of the Church. He was neither a quixotic idealist nor a clerical hardliner. Denis Jardin knew a lot about temptations and life in general. Moreover, he was a man with the heart in the right place.

The priest needed to attend to some personal business of undisclosed nature. For one reason or another, that was nothing he wanted to discuss with his higher ups in too much detail. So when the bishop offered him to join the French parish in New York as a visiting priest for a few months, and at the same time, Neal was looking for quick means to go there, it seemed to be a perfect match.

'It's so much easier to use the identity of someone who really exists. The CV has no holes and the back-story holds on. It takes a lot of time to forge such an alias if you can't borrow someone's identity. That's how I turned into Father Denis Jardin, my Daughter.' The con man explained finally his motivation for taking this disguise.

June enjoyed Neal's impudence. But even more, she appreciated that Neal Caffrey had gone out of his way when she called for his help. 'Oh Neal, you haven't changed a bit. How I've missed your capers and stories. I guess a visiting priest doesn't lodge in the Waldorf Astoria. Where do you stay?'

You'd almost thought he was pouting from a look at his face... 'For now, I'm staying in a non-profit guest house that was recommended by the bishop. It offers low cost temporary accommodations to clergy. It claims to offer an old world charm. To my liking, the shared bathrooms have way too much old world charm. They could need some new world fittings. And the coffee tastes very pre-war, too. I'm looking for another place to stay. I want to lay low. Can't spend too much money without drawing attention to me.' Neal sighed while thinking about the venerable but dreary guest house. He missed Mozzie's safe houses. Too bad that they were all gone long since.

June smiled. 'How about staying with a relative, an old aunt or cousin second grade? I think we could agree a reasonable rent. Your old apartment is still there and I would be more than happy if you could take care of the house as long as I'm in hospital.'

Neal was surprised. 'It's still vacant? After all the time... Why didn't you rent it out or let one of your grandchildren move in?'

'It's your home, always will be. I was hoping that one day you might come back. And even if not, it didn't seem right to wipe out all those good memories of you in that room by hosting some stranger.'

It was a touching statement, and Neal was touched indeed. 'Then I feel more than honored and glad to take it as my temporary residence. Thank you very much for your generosity. I guess the bishop will be relieved to hear I'm moving in with a relative.'

After they've been chitchatting for a while, the younger man came to the point. 'You've sent a message that you need my help. Something you have never done before. ... I understood that it can't wait. So, here I am. What can I do for you, June?'


	2. June's Problem

'You've sent a message that you need my help. Something you have never done before. ... I understood that it can't wait. So, here I am. What can I do for you, June?'

She looked up and locked eyes with him. Deep brown eyes meeting sparkling blue ones. 'I'm dying.'

When Neal opened his mouth to object, she stopped him and took his hand. 'No, don't... You know I'm right. I'm not talking about today or this week, but it's not much time left. I'm not worried about it. You shouldn't worry either. I've lived my life. It was rich, funny, full of love, wild, sometimes stormy, rarely easy, never boring. I've had Byron, the children and grandchildren, my music. I traveled the world and have a home in New York. I didn't miss anything out. In the end when I was bracing myself to easing into a quieter life style, you happened.'

The con man grinned, 'I'll take this as a compliment...'

June looked at him affectionately. 'That is exactly how it was meant, my dear. I'm 87 years old. I'm not afraid of dying. But there is something I need to sort out before I leave. It's about Byron.'

Byron had been no angel in his times. He had run cons, stolen jewelery, marked cards at poker, and committed lots of other crimes that yielded a profit. However, his M.O. was the exchange of valuable paintings with a forgery. He sold the original masters to private collectors. Usually, it took months or even years until the forgery got busted. There were actually a few paintings hanging in museums which never were spotted as counterfeit.

Dutch masters, impressionists, Picasso, and Da Vinci were among the copied artists. Regardless of the period or artistic style, all the paintings had been of superior quality. Usually, someone placed an order, then Byron exchanged the requested painting. He had never let on about the painter he contracted. Byron had been as talented as a five year old kid when it came to painting. He couldn't have been the forger himself.

Hearing that story, Neal's professional interest got aroused. He couldn't stop himself from asking, 'Were the forgeries as good as mine?'

'Oh, stop bragging. They were just as good as yours, maybe even better. They were perfect.' June was amused.

'Though, Byron has never targeted anyone who wasn't loaded. He was a man of honor. If anyone was in need, troubled, or less than wealthy Byron would not have picked him. First and foremost, he has never taken from children at all. Never!" June got excited and riled during her monologue.

Neal Caffrey could relate to Byron's code of honor. 'You wouldn't have loved him if he had been a selfish bastard. I bet he did it as much for the challenge as for the profit.'

'Well, he loved the money and the luxury it could buy. And so did I. But yes, he loved the challenge, the thrill. A part of him never grew up, remained a kid. That's why all these suspicions are so ridiculous.'

'Harlem Shelter For Kids' was a charity founded during the economy crisis of the 1920s. It has raised funds to help homeless and neglected children in Harlem ever since. Many well off people from Harlem supported the case one way or the other. Many years ago a Vermeer was bequeathed to the shelter. The art was never sold but was used as a security for mortgages.

Last month the Vermeer was sent as a loan to an exhibition in Baltimore. It was assessed by an insurance company on arrival. The first examinations raised some doubts about the authenticity. Further tests proved that the painting wasn't older than 30 years at most.

That finding was a shock to everyone. But soon after the news came up, ugly rumors started spreading about Byron being the one to blame for.

The Ellingtons have been donating to 'Harlem Shelter For Kids' for more than 40 years. June has been very involved with the charity, spent a substantial amount of time in raising money or taking care of the kids herself. She had been member of the board for a few years.

She and Byron have been frequent guests in the charity location with access to even the private floors. It would have been easy for Byron to swap the real art for a forgery without being noticed.

'But he didn't, Neal. I swear, he didn't. He would have never done that to any charity organization, leave alone one that cares about children. I'm the last one who'd claim he was without fail. Nevertheless, I don't want anyone blaming such a heartless crime on him. He hasn't deserved this. He has still a certain name in our neighborhood. People respect his memory. He was a good man. This is just not right.' June was not willing to let it go. Friends told her it's too late to do anything about it. Water under the bridge... Though not in her book. Byron was not anyone's scapegoat for a despicable crime like this.

'Now the FBI is onto it, investigating the case. They came asking me questions about the painting or if I knew anything. I don't think they look into any other directions, said they got a tip-off. Please, Neal... I ask for your help to prove Byron's innocence.' She seemed tired by now and her speech was slurring; sometimes she had to grope for the right word.

Neal felt angry that she had to go through all this. He wouldn't let her down. 'You don't have to ask for anything, June. This sounds as if there is someone needed with criminal consulting skills, experience with White Collar investigations, and good connections to the right people." He smiled at her reassuringly, some might even call it mischievously. 'Don't worry,You're not alone in this. I will take care of this. We're going to find out who did it in order to return the real painting to the Shelter.'


	3. Meeting Old Friends

When Peter pulled into the driveway, Elisabeth looked unhappy. 'I miss Neal. This house is not the same without him. Why did you let him go?'

Peter decided to ignore the accusing undertone in the question. "Because he is very happy where he is right now and has probably the fun of his lifetime. He'll be spoiled rotten. When he comes back, he'll be unbearable."

El shrugged. "But don't you miss him at all? What happens if he becomes homesick? Or if he gets into trouble? You know him..."

Her husband sighed. "Yes, I'm going to miss him. But he's only upstate, spending 2 weeks with your parents. Quite frankly, I prefer if he stays there without me. Spending 2 weeks with your father is literally my worst nightmare. Of course, he will get into trouble. It's Neal! Trust me, your parents will handle it well and after spending a fortnight with a 7 year old bundle of energy, they will be glad to bring their grandson back to us. Until then we have 14 days of romantic dinners, sleeping in late, and quiet evenings just you and me."

Peter wasn't as cool as he pretended to be. He knew he would miss the nonsense talk over breakfast and watching baseball alone was just half the fun. However, he was also aware that Neal would have a lot of fun in the next two weeks.

Their neighbor, Jake, came over to greet them. It wasn't unusual for him to come across for a chat. The Burke's had made a lot of contact with the neighbors since they've had a kid who loved to explore the surroundings.

"Hey Peter, have you joined the Catholic Church recently? I dare say, that priest of yours seems to be a decent chap. If you ignore the funny accent, of course." Jake was obviously curious.

Whereas Peter Burke was confused. 'What priest? I have no idea what you're talking about.'

Jake recalled the encounter he had earlier that afternoon. 'Priest. European accent. Handsome fellow, about 6 feet tall. Probably in his late forties, grayish hair. He was asking for you. Told me you made once a leap of faith for him and that he's about to reinstate your commitment. Wait, what was his name... Father Denis, I think.'

El was laughing. 'Peter Burke, you never stop to amaze me. Now, you've made friends with a priest without my knowledge.'

Peter groaned irritated. 'Only because someone looks like a priest doesn't mean he has to be one. Did he leave a message?'

Jake smirked. 'Yep, he said he will be back tomorrow after church to talk to you. He also said he wouldn't mind joining you for lunch - as long as El does the cooking and he doesn't have to chew your pot roast. He really seems to know you.'

Just to be sure, Peter had to ask. 'Do you remember his eyes? What color have his eyes?'

'Deep blue eyes behind those glasses. To quote the wife, ' _You could get lost in them_ '. And apparently she's never seen so beautiful eyes. Told me she would be going to church more often if all the priests looked like that nowadays.'

El stared at Peter. When they had entered the house and the door was closed, she didn't hold back. She was decidedly fuming. 'If I hadn't attended Neal Caffrey's funeral myself, I would say Jake gave a pretty good description of Neal. But he is dead. I've been grieving about him for a long, a very long time. Tell me I'm wrong and Neal George Caffrey has not been alive all the time!'

At the time, it had seemed to Peter the best option to tell no-one that Neal survived. It hadn't taken Peter long to understand why it was better for Caffrey to stay dead. This wasn't one of his cons, but a reasonable plan to keep everyone alive and safe. To keep a secret, you shouldn't let anyone in. ' _Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead._ ', as Mozzie had put it once.

Now of course, facing El's rage, it suddenly didn't seem such a good idea any more. They had a heated argument and she made no bones about her hurt feelings. She had mourned, and suffered, and finally coped with the loss. Only to find out, Neal turned up at their doorstep – in the flesh – almost 8 years later.

Later in the evening, Peter came to the conclusion that mentioning her hormonal imbalance during the pregnancy has neither been a convincing argument nor a wise move. On the other hand, they bought a new couch two years ago which was rather comfy. Sleeping a night on the couch wasn't too bad.

*** Next day ***

Peter Burke would have recognized Neal by that swaggering walk everywhere in the world, even in the middle of a dense crowd. He was sneering while watching his friend walking down the street. It seemed odd at a priest to be strutting as if he owned the world.

The very moment Neal entered the front yard, Peter hugged him tight, quite overwhelmed by the moment. 'Oh Neal, it's good to have you back!'

The other man told him in a solemn tone, 'You may call me Father Denis, my Son.'

'I may call you Neal or I may call the police, it's completely up to you.' But the FBI agent grinned and couldn't fool anyone.

The con man replied with disarming nonchalance, 'I guess, Neal is just as fine then.' He had to fight hard to act cool and pretend being unmoved. As a matter of fact, he had to gulp back his tears because it felt wonderful to meet his friend after all these years. Meeting June has been an emotional experience already, yet this was even more powerful.

Elisabeth didn't even try to blink back tears. She was a crying mess moments after she started hugging Neal. Not only was she happy to see him after all the years, but she understood the huge sacrifice he had made to keep his friends safe. So she hugged him, kissed him, and didn't stop talking.

At one point, she punched him hard in the chest. 'That's for not getting in contact and letting me believe you're dead. Don't do this again, ever!'

Neal appreciated that Peter hasn't confided the secret to his wife. Over the years, Neal has sent cryptic emails at least once a year to let Peter know he was doing alright. Even though, he kept his whereabouts to himself. According to Neal's unspoken wish, the FBI agent had restrained himself from searching for his friend because he didn't want to raise unwanted attention. It hasn't been easy for him and more than once, he was just about to start an international search operation in the FBI database. But he has never actually done it.

They ate lunch, shared stories and pictures, and enjoyed the reunion. Neal had to watch tons of photos showing his namesake as a baby, a toddler riding on Satchmo, his first day at kindergarten, or swinging a baseball bat.

He eluded most of the questions how and where he'd spent the last years. When asked how he'd made a living, he just told them that he'd kept the French police very busy. Being asked directly whether he did that by committing crimes or helping to solve ones, he gave them the sphinxlike smile he had perfected and remained silent.

Peter had learned why Neal used the disguise of a priest, but still he was irritated. 'You know, these priest clothes take some getting used to. Are you aware that you're wearing literally a white collar?'

The response was only a strained sigh to comment on the stale joke. Which didn't stop Peter from rattling on. 'This must be a real turnoff for the ladies. Even worse, you turned gray. Well, not completely gray, but there are many gray streaks. When did that happen? And how do you cope?'

Caffrey grinned. 'It happened this Monday around half past five in the afternoon. I, a gifted hairstylist, and a bottle of dye accomplished the deed. My friend Denis is 53 years old. I can't look like my usual stunning self when impersonating him. Therefore, I had to age prematurely. It's all for the good cause.'

Neal talked about June's problem, yet Peter was already aware of the case. 'I know that my division is investigating. So far, I hate to say it... But so far, a lot is pointing in Byron's direction. Yet no other trace to be found. Maybe June is wrong, and Byron is the culprit after all.'

The former criminal objected vehemently. 'I won't deny that Byron was a criminal. But I know that he wouldn't have taken anything from a charity.'

The FBI agent wasn't convinced. 'How exactly do you know that? You haven't even met him in person!'

Caffrey shook his head in astonishment. 'I should have thought it was obvious. Look, do you know why June hit it off with me right from the start? I'm just like Byron in so many ways. It won't give me sleepless nights if I steal a treasure from the rich. Even so, I would never take anything from kids or a charity. There are not many rules we keep. But this is one of them and we don't break it.'

Burke could follow Neal's argumentation. However, the facts were not in favor of Byron. 'We found plenty incriminating evidence which will be hard to disprove. Maybe, there's nothing you can do for June.'

'Tell me about the incriminating evidence! What is it?' Neal was eager for facts.

Unfortunately, Burke had no intentions to share the details. 'You know that I can't tell you anything. It's confidential information. I can't share FBI details with you!'

The ex CI couldn't believe it. 'Seriously? Are you kidding me? I was working with you for years. I shared so many secrets I'd better kept for myself. You can't shut me off now.'

It took a while, but eventually the FBI agent was willing to disclose the state of the investigations.

Chemical analysis proved that the paint used for the art was manufactured in New Jersey between 1987 and 1989. It was a fact that the painting was a forgery.

Glenda Baker was the head of the charity. Her grandmother has founded 'Harlem Shelter for Kids' and ever since, the whole family has been deeply committed to it. Glenda told the FBI that one night she had seen Byron leaving the upper floor with a huge portfolio, the type used for paintings. When spoken to, he seemed like a kid getting caught with his hand in a cookie jar. However, he told Glenda a story about a Christmas present for June and coaxed her to keep this encounter a secret.

Not only Glenda hat witnessed this, but also a young community worker who worked for the charity. Both women remembered even the date of this occurrence because it had been the night before Christmas 1988 and they had stayed late to wrap last minute donations as presents for the kids.

During his criminal life Byron had swapped many paintings and replaced them with forgeries. However, the police could prove only one of these offenses against him. He had spent 3 years in jail for the forgery of a Matisse. Whether he abode by the law or was just too slick to get caught was unclear, but afterwards he has never once turned up on the radar of the police again.

That forged Matisse had been used as basis of comparison to the recently emerged Vermeer. They both used the same type of canvas and the colors were from the same small manufacturer. Both paintings were very different in artistic style, though there were similarities found.

The FBI has executed a search warrant. But to no avail. There was no incriminating evidence found in the Ellington's house at Riverside Drive. They interrogated a few fences, yet came up with nothing. The investigations got stuck.

Sure enough, Neal had to call these facts into question. 'Did you check Glenda's credibility? How's her financial background? It's quite easy to blame a former criminal to distract the attention from herself. And how can you compare a painting from the Dutch Golden Age with an Impressionist! They are too different.'

Peter wasn't convinced. 'We've done our homework. Glenda's financial background is stable. Over the last 30 years, she hasn't even once been in the red. Furthermore, the second witness is beyond all doubt. Actually, by the looks of it, she seems to be a colleague of yours...'

Caffrey threw him a questioning look. 'What are you talking about?'

Burke sneered. 'She's a nun. A real one. Honest-to-goodness. A genuine nun. No alias, but the authentic Sister Mary Frances has given her statement.'

Instead of being downcast by the news, Neal was excited. 'Then, I think I've got the perfect angle to go in and start an undercover investigation. That's awesome! We're going to prove Byron's innocence.'

Somehow, Peter Burke wasn't surprised by this enthusiasm. It'll be a cold day in hell when he'd admit that he had missed that reckless abandon, but he was truly looking forward to digging into this with his former consultant. 'If there's any undercover operation at all, it's driven by the FBI. And whether you go in or not is completely up to the Special Agent in charge of the case.'

Neal was not thrilled hearing this. 'Fine. If you want to wait until your dull, bureaucratic Harvard co-eds have filled out the necessary forms, go ahead. June is running out of time and I'm not going to waste precious time.'

Peter looked deadly serious while teasing his friend. 'I'd say we should talk to the Agent first before jumping to conclusions. Should I tell Clinton that you called him a dull, bureaucratic Harvard co-ed or do you want to have the pleasure yourself?'

AN :

Thanks for your lovely reviews. Loved them.


	4. Prepare The Ground

Determined not to waste any time, Neal didn't hesitate to put the plan to work undercover into action. Father Denis Jardin was expected to pay a first official visit to the diocesan bishop as part of his temporary transfer to New York. Of course, it was difficult to get this arranged at such short notice. But on Monday afternoon, he was eventually received in audience.

The real Denis Jardin had warned Neal beforehand about the bishop being an imposing personality. Meeting him in person, the con man couldn't fail to be impressed. The bishop was a tall and lean man in his early 60's. His penetrating glance seemed to look right through the surface into the soul of the not so real priest. Neal felt very uncomfortable, like a mouse targeted by a hawk. Yet he had coped with more difficult situations in his life, and so he kept his cool. The con man held the bishop's gaze while trying to convey an equally humble as well as faithful impression – as appropriate for a priest.

Finally, the bishop broke the silence. 'So, you are Denis Jardin from the little village of Lourmarin in Southern France visiting our big city?'

The statement was stressed as a question; as such, Neal explained why he came to New York. Surprisingly, the bishop seemed to know quite a bit about Lourmarin and the surroundings with its fields, vineyards, olive groves, and extensive forests. Being asked lots of questions about places and people from his alleged home town felt like an interrogation. Fortunately, the con man knew his trade and has done his homework. So that he wasn't caught off guard.

Only when asked about a local pastry shop he had to pass. 'Sorry, Bishop Dolan. That shop must have closed before I entered service in Lourmarin. I've never heard about it. Although, I can assure you there's still a lot of good pastry available in our village.' If it hadn't been the bishop but an FBI agent grilling him, Neal would have suspected it had been a catch question.

A faint smile flitted across the bishop's face. 'Ah, well. Good answer! Then, what can I do for my foreign fellow minister?'

That was Neal's cue. 'Your Excellency, I would like to ask your consent to assist at the Institution of Mercy. I agreed with my bishop back in France that it would be best to provide God's blessing to those who need spiritual guidance and active support most. After some discussions with my spiritual mentor here in Manhattan, I came to think that this institution would be a good place to accomplish that mission.'

The Institution of Mercy was a center dedicated to help homeless, criminal, and drug addicted youths with food, temporary shelter and any other aid they were willing to accept. It was led by the order of Sisters of Life.

Hearing that, the bishop had to stifle a laugh. 'You are volunteering to assist Sister Mary Frances? God bless you! You obviously live by the principle _Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them_.'

Bishop Dolan seemed to be amused by the idea. 'I have absolutely no objections. If you please keep me updated on your progress, Father.'

Obviously dismissed, Neal retreated. He couldn't resist the feeling that this meeting has been weird and went completely different than expected. Never mind, he has achieved his purpose and should meet Sister Mary Frances the next day. Maybe the nun was behind the crime, or at least she knew more than she has told the FBI. As a priest he wouldn't have any problems to gain her trust and presumably she would confide in him.

Peter had asked Clinton to bring the forged painting and the case file over to June's place after work. He hadn't told his younger agent that they would meet Neal Caffrey. It was just advised as an informal problem solving session helping with the case.

Clinton brought the painting, the case file and a bottle of single malt whiskey. When Burke opened the apartment door to let the agent in, he was astonished by the bottle of expensive liquid. 'We're off the clock. So I don't mind having a glass. But what's the reason to celebrate?'

Surprisingly, Agent Jones wasn't surprised at all to see Neal Caffrey, who was supposedly dead and buried, sitting on the roof top terrace. 'Well, I guessed, Neal came back finally. I thought that's worth a slug of Balbair.'

Peter has been worried how to explain why Neal was still alive and whether Clinton would be happy or take offense. Apparently, that trouble has been for nothing. Now, Burke was stunned. 'How come that you know Neal is not dead? And why haven't you told me?'

Before he answered the question, Clinton welcomed Neal, giving him a slap on the shoulder. 'Hey man, looking a bit weird in that costume. Never saw you as a member of the clergy. Do I wanna know the story behind it?'

After a bit of bantering, Jones told them that he found out 6 years ago that Caffrey was alive and kicking. 'You remember when your CI was kidnapped, before he joined the Pink Panthers? You issued a surveillance request to international border control. You never dropped it. They ran an iris scan when an Irish marketing executive went through border control at the airport in London Heathrow six years ago. That guy, who traveled by the name of Daniel Campbell, seemed to have the same iris as Neal Caffrey. They've sent an alert to the Bureau. I thought it must be a mistake and ordered the surveillance tape. That's how I found out!'

Agent Burke was confused. 'If you knew it all the time, why haven't you told me? You were aware that he has been more than a consultant to me!'

Clinton shrugged. 'I thought you knew already. When I found out, you were already quite relaxed about Neal. Right after his death one couldn't mention Caffrey's name in your presence without you going rigid and tight-lipped. That had changed; you were talking about him casually. So, I thought you've found it out by yourself already. Furthermore, I figured out that Neal disappeared to keep you, your family, and maybe some other people safe. Talking about it wouldn't have done any good. So, I dropped the surveillance request, destroyed the report and let bygones be bygones...'

Neal appreciated the gesture of friendship. Clinton has always been one whose actions spoke louder than words.

Peter, on the other hand, jumped at the interesting piece of news. 'Marketing executive? Is that your new profession? Well, I bet you're good at it.'

True to type, Neal didn't answer the question but rather asked to take a look at the forgery. Actually, the forged painting was top notch. A visual check didn't give any indication that it wasn't the real thing. It looked and felt like a genuine Vermeer. Being a gifted forger himself, Caffrey admired the work.

June had asked to look for a small crown hidden in the middle of the painting. Byron's forger didn't use a signature or initials, but a little crown that was almost invisible. It took him almost 10 minutes to spot the little crown in what looked like a wrinkle next to the left eye of the portrait. Neal kept that discovery to himself, assuming this finding would just validate the FBI's suspicions. He wanted to talk it through with June first.

The case file itself didn't reveal anything new. The FBI agents agreed that it wouldn't do any harm for Neal to investigate undercover as long as he coordinated any actions with Peter beforehand. No solo runs or maverick actions for the re-hired CI...

Caffrey would not only contact Sister Mary Frances, but was also planning to visit Glenda Baker in order to get some insight to her background. He didn't doubt that the Bureau did a thorough financial background check on her, yet talking to people usually gave you better information. And he was good at talking to people.

AN:  
Once again, thank you for the follows & reviews. I love them  
Before I started writing, I thought it might 3 or 4 chapters. All perfectly clear in my mind. Now, I realized that I need to elaborate more because you can't see the pictures in my head... Therefore, please stay tuned.


	5. Add a nun and a queen to the puzzle

It was a bright and sunny fall morning. Neal was in good spirits as he set off to see Sister Mary Frances. The nun was 58 years old; according to Neal's professional expertise his charm usually worked effortless with women of that age. His recent experiences as a priest proofed that nuns were no exception to the rule. Quite the opposite, his status as a member of the clergy seemed to be a door opener whenever he met a nun.

The youths' center was in the middle of Harlem, the neglected part of it. It wasn't a prestigious building, but rather an ugly and dirty house with lots of nasty black Graffiti on the walls. When Neal knocked on the unwelcoming door, a wiry woman in blue jeans and gray tee shirt opened the door. 'Yes?' Her welcome sounded like a bark.

Nevertheless, the con man put on his flashing, disarming smile. 'Good morning! My name is Father Denis Jardin. I came to see Sister Mary Francis. If you might deliver the message that the visitor, whom Bishop Dolan has announced, has arrived?'

'The Lord help us! Another useless scholar banished to exile. What did you do to annoy the bishop?' The woman rolled her eyes.

Neal was called off guard and his voice was rather rasp. 'Sister Mary Frances? Can I find her here?'

Completely on the edge, his counterpart had a go at the priest. ' _I_ am Sister Mary Frances. What did you expect? A sweet-tempered penguin in habit feeding the rosary beads through her fingers, flattered by the visit of a man of the cloth?'

That was pretty much what Neal had expected indeed... However, it didn't seem like a particularly promising idea to acknowledge his mistake. 'Of course not, Sister! I am just surprised that you think I was put under banishment. I volunteered to assist you in your charitable work.'

The nun wasn't impressed. 'Oh, yes? I can't see that happen! Are you going to read inspiring Bible stories to the druggy petty criminals? Or absolve the underage hooker from her sins after she made the act of contrition? That's not gonna happen. One look at your clean shaven face, your spotless robe, and manicured hands show me that you have no idea about the help we need here. Don't even get me started on your affected speech. Go away! Tell that bishop of yours I'm fed up with being used as an earthly purgatory to punish his wayward clergy.'

So far, Neal had been interested in this undercover job to help June, plus he loved the excitement of undercover work in general. But now, the con man's honor was at stake. He had to win that woman over no matter what.

Therefore, he stopped her just in time before she slammed the door in his face. 'Wait! Maybe you shouldn't jump to conclusions so fast and thoughtlessly. Maybe that suave priest comes with a history of his own and can tell your druggy petty criminal how his life will look like after he'd spent a decade in prison. Or he might be able to help your underage hooker to understand that being in the system will give her a future prospect whereas selling herself for an Andrew Jackson will end her life in the gutter sooner rather than later.'

Sister Mary Frances glared at him, judging him. Eventually, she decided to give the priest a break. 'Come in. Let's talk. But that cheesy smile stays outside. And don't you dare patronizing me. I eat wimps like you, thrown at me by the bishop, for breakfast.' A grim smile was gracing her face, taking the sting out of the words though.

It took Neal all day to convince her to be allowed to come back. He was not even close to gaining her trust. He spent the entire night to come up with an idea how to work with the youths that could get the nun hooked.

When he talked about an arts project the next day, she almost threw him out again. Eventually, he convinced Sister Mary Frances that Graffiti was some kind of art that could intrigue the stray teenagers. By the end of the week she was more relaxed in his presence. While helping her to clean up the public consulting rooms the nun shared some memories about the beginnings of the center. Neal managed to direct the conversation subtly to her first assignment at the Harlem Shelter for Kids.

Sister Mary Frances showed sincere respect to Glenda Basie. 'I was a young and idealistic grasshopper back then.'

Neal had to chuckle.

The nun smirked in response. 'Yeah, yeah. Hard to believe today, I know. But I learned a lot from Glenda. She is very dedicated, giving a lot of heart, work, and money to her charity. She isn't fooled by anyone and can be a real bad-ass when it comes to negotiating with officials or moneybags. Well, even she had a soft spot, still has, as it is...'

Neal pricked up his ears. 'A soft spot... What's that? She's into gin rummy, port wine or anything similarly audacious?'

Sister Mary Francis wore a mischievous smile while she was mocking him. 'That husband of hers, Geoff, was wearing the same brilliant smile you have apparently perfected. He has been a sly dog, a crook if you have ever seen one. Charming the pants off every woman in sight. Geoff even tried to sweet-talk _me_. However, Glenda was blind on that eye. She didn't want to notice it. Instead, she told me he's the love of her life. And maybe I'm wrong because they are still happily married. Perhaps I'm just an envious, sour old bag. What do you think, does practicing celibacy make us resentful?'

Without actually lying, Neal could reassure her. 'I can ensure you that celibacy has never made me resentful. Not a single day in my life. I can't deny that there have been times in my life when I missed having a women I love in my life but it didn't make me bitter at all.'

*** Later the same day ***

Neal visited June the very same evening to share the news. His landlady was still in hospital. Meeting her there always hurt Neal. She has been such a strong and protective person. Therefore, it was hard for him to bear seeing her weak and vulnerable. Yet, she was on the mend, looking a bit more like her former self day by day.

June had to agree with Sister Mary Francis' characterization. 'Geoff is actually quite a charmer. No one can deny that. Although, as far as I noticed he was flirting, enchanting, but he never committed adultery. And I have no idea at all how this could be connected to the forged painting.'

June tried to recall the times they have spent together with the Basie couple. 'Geoff has always cared lovingly for Glenda. When they celebrated their 60s anniversary last year, it was a huge party. Even more important, they seemed to be just as much in love as if they were newlyweds. You see, they've never had any children of their own. This was a huge disappointment for Glenda. To complete their misery she had a miscarriage in her early 40s. Still both of them have coped well and grown even closer. I can't imagine that he had a thing going on.'

Neal decided that he wanted to meet the guy himself to get a firsthand impression. However, there was still the issue regarding the crown he spotted in the painting. 'June, I hate to say it, but doesn't that indicate Byron was at least involved in the forgery? After all, it seems to be his favorite forger who created the painting. Actually, I can attest that this guy is actually a very gifted forger, almost as talented as I am.'

His landlady took the bragging with good humor. 'You're incorrigible! Trust me, you'd be surprised at how good that artist was. Even the great mastermind Neal Caffrey would have been fooled by her forgeries. And yes, as a matter of fact, that gifted guy was a girl.'

The ex con was excited. 'You knew his source! Who was it? You have to tell me! Moreover, what's about the crown in the painting? Just for the record, I'm pretty sure I'd not be fooled by her work. It is good, but not that good.'

June chuckled. 'I'll prove you wrong one day, take my word. You'd be fooled. She was the best, one of a kind. And yes, I knew her. Even if she has created the Vermeer that doesn't mean Byron was involved. There is another connection.'

Neal was puzzled. 'What connection? I don't understand. How could Byron's forger copy the real Vermeer if your husband wasn't involved? You really need to study a painting closely to reproduce it in such high quality. Byron had that access to the art.'

Apparently, the old lady needed to make up her mind whether to share a secret that she has kept for more than 40 years. Eventually, she came to a decision. 'This information is not to be shared with the FBI, not even with Peter.'

She waited to continue until Neal nodded his assent and promised secrecy. 'Glenda's kid sister Beth was the forger. She was talented in so many areas, not only painting. She played the violin, spoke 7 languages fluently and never missed a single party in her life. She was a very good friend of Byron and me. Actually, I only met Glenda through Beth. She loved the excitement of being involved in Byron's capers. She donated her share of the forgeries to the shelter. It was more like a contest than a crime to her. Her friends called her BB, for Beth Basie. Sometimes we jokingly called her BB Queen after BB King. So, she adorned her paintings with a crown to pay that title tribute.'

Neal was thrilled. 'That sounds like a woman of my liking. I'd love to meet her. If we team up, we should be bubbling over with ideas and schemes. That would be fun, for sure.'

June's eyes turned teary. 'Unfortunately, that won't happen. Beth was killed almost 25 years ago in a street robbery that went awry. She came home alone late at night from a club when she was mugged. I don't know what made her putting up resistance. If she had simply handed over her purse, she'd probably be still alive. Maybe she didn't think at all. But Beth fought the thief; the guy had a gun and shot. He took her purse; she died on the cold street. The police could never find the murderer. Her whole family was shocked. They were so close, we all were. I still miss her.'

With June being sad already, it was hard for Neal to share more unpleasant news. 'Unfortunately, Byron was spotted carrying out a painting one night. I spoke to Sister Mary Frances who was there at the time. According to her, Byron seemed not really happy to be caught moving a painting. He covered up with a story about a Christmas present for you, though wasn't willing to show it. So that casts him in a bad light.'

Surprisingly, the old lady gave a ringing laugh. 'He made Bessie forge my favorite painting, and then he switched it for the real one. You wouldn't believe what incredible painting I got for Christmas that year. It was the most amazing present one could wish for. You would love that painting, too. It is a very famous piece of art. I'll show it to you someday soon when I'm back home. I'd love to see your face when you take a look at it. But of course, he couldn't show it to Glenda and that nun.'


	6. Field trip

AN: I beg your pardon. Quite annoyingly, real life has taken over my fan life. Which is quite impertinent. Real life shouldn't demand so much of our time and energy when you have to take care of White Collar fanfic instead. However... I won't manage long chapters for a while. But rather than waiting for calmer times, I decided to split the chapters in shorter chunks. So, I hope this is okay for you.

*** And here the story starts... ***

Neal arranged to visit Glenda under the pretext of seeking her support for the Graffiti project. By the recommendation of Sister Mary Frances he got an appointment in the afternoon without any difficulties. Over a few cups of lapsang souchong and freshly baked sponge cake they chatted for the better part of an hour.

Glenda had traveled a lot; so they swapped happy memories about places and adventures. Neal was impressed by her vivid narration and enjoyed the amusing stories.

After a while they came to talk about the art project. The alleged priest had worked out the concept with the boys and girls from the center. They had prepared a storyboard elaborating the main idea as an illustrative presentation. Cooperating with the teenagers had been an inspiring experience. Initially, they had been filled with incredulity. Against all their skepticism, Neal has managed to drum up their enthusiasm by involving them in the complete planning process as well as incorporating their ideas to the project.

While they were talking about the sketches, the con man directed the conversation from Graffiti to art in a broader context. He protracted the discussion because he was hoping to meet Geoff who was out for a business meeting.

Fortunately, just when Glenda had offered him a tour of the house to show some precious paintings, Geoff returned. Glenda received him with a hug and Geoff kissed her affectionately in return. Just like June has insisted, the couple seemed to be still very much in love. However, Neal had kissed enough women himself to know that it was almost impossible to tell from the outside if the demonstrated feeling was real or just a means to an end.

Geoff didn't hesitate to join them on the little tour, staying at Glenda's side while they marveled at the art.

Undeniably, there was a mutual distrust between the men that both of them masked expertly with pleasant talk and friendly manners. Geoff asked a lot of questions about the priest's profession, his personal background, the French countryside, even engaged him in a conversation in French. Neal couldn't help the feeling that his background story was challenged. He remained calm though, answering all questions casually and effortless, the polite smile never leaving his face.

Geoff himself shared little information about his business, apart from introducing the young man, George, who accompanied him as a personal assistant. However, he commanded the art of story telling and it was entertaining to listen to his anecdotes about the paintings in the house. The Baisies owned few but selected works of art. The couple loved each individual piece. They shared stories about the artist, the places where they've found a painting or how they've purchased it.

Caffrey took away two key learnings from the tour. Glenda as well as Geoff cherished their art collection, but it was Geoff who knew the monetary value of each painting quite accurately.

George, the PA, seemed to be a familiar guest at the Baisie's home. He took calls on the private landline, fetched a cardigan for June when she felt cold and reminded the couple of an upcoming dinner appointment.

Before Neal left, Glenda pledged her support for the Graffiti project. For that to happen, he promised to bring over more detailed concepts and a financial outline soon. The false priest intended to drop by when Geoff was at home alone in order to sound the other man out. In a subtle way of course.

But before he could do that, there was a background check required...

True to form, the ex CI decided to combine business with pleasure. Before he headed to Brooklyn, he called Elisabeth to ask about his chances to get a taste of her wonderful Cornish hens for dinner.


	7. Deja vu

After a long day at the Bureau Peter was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. However, that expectation was short-lived as he realized upon entering the living room. 'You're in my house, on my couch, with my wife. I've got a feeling of déjà vu. What are you doing here? Isn't there a social event at a church or a prayer meeting that you should attend? Get off my couch! Maybe, I should call the Marshalls.'

Neal grinned. 'What can I say? I'm still surprised you have such an amazing wife and that she has put up with you all these years.'

El enjoyed the banter, well aware that her husband wasn't angry at all. 'Honey, we're just chatting. Come, take a seat. Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes. Neal brought a great Pinot Grigio, you should try a glass.'

Peter scorned the wine, but indulged later on in the cannoli which Neal has bought at an Italian bakery as dessert.

After dinner, Neal shared the information and impressions he had got that afternoon. 'Glenda seems to be a genuinely nice person, amiable, but tough. I don't think she's involved in the forgery. I don't see any deceit in her. Now, that husband of hers, Geoff, that 's a different kettle of fish. I sensed there some duplicity. My deception radar went wild. I'm sure he's hiding something and wouldn't be surprised if he is behind the forgery.'

The agent remained skeptical. 'A fellow drifter, huh? Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind... But your hunch is probably wrong. We looked into him, very thoroughly actually. There's noting wrong with the guy. He was never suspect in any crime, no arrest, not even in his youth. He has no drinking or gambling history. His business is legit, small, but no connection to organized crime.'

Caffrey wasn't convinced. 'What about the business he's running? Is it making profit? Is he in debt?'

Burke resolved this doubt. 'He has been running a sales agency until a few years back. His company was dealing with printing press supplies, but now he's retired. He has never had more than 3 employees. The company generated only moderate revenue, never lost any money though. Unlike his wife, Geoff didn't come from money. The father was a mechanic and Geoff was the first one in the family who went to university. Taking Glenda's heritage into account, money was not a limiting factor for them. However, they have lived a wealthy life, yet never splashed money around.'

There was an inconsistency in that biography making the ex-con pressing for more details. 'You said he's retired. But this afternoon he was out for business. So maybe there's something else going on. Something you don't know about.'

The FBI agent shook his head. 'Geoff is still taking care of the Harlem Shelter Charity, managing the financial administration. He has been doing that for the last 30 years. And before you even ask, the books are clean. We checked that as well. Nothing fishy at all.'

When Elizabeth joined them, the conversation turned to the Baisie's art collection. She was quite amused by Neal's lively description about the security arrangements, alarm system and the vicinity of paintings to a window. 'Isn't it interesting what kind of detail a priest notices? I really hope there will be no burglary reported anytime soon. Knowing my husband, you'd be on the top of his list of suspects.'

Peter has went to the kitchen to get more wine; even so he was listening to their conversation. They heard him shouting, 'He'd _be_ my list!'

The ex-criminal rolled his eyes and was slightly offended. 'May I ask for some respect, please? This is insulting. I'd never hit an obvious target like this. I could just as well leave my business card at the crime scene. I may have turned gray but not stupid, Agent Burke!'

The agent muttered under his breath something about showoffs who had put their initials on forged bonds and leopards not changing their spots.

Unaffected by the insolent comment, Neal went on. 'In fact, I suggested that they should upgrade the security arrangements. The personal assistant, George, will look into that and contact a few reliable security consultants. Talking about that kid, did you check his background? He seems to be quite young, but that's no guarantee that he's not involved.'

Certainly, the FBI had checked all the domestic staff as well as the people working for the charity. Some unpaid parking tickets plus a gardener who was caught smoking weed was all the illegal activity which was revealed.

George Gerling had earned his degree at a business school and was on his first job working for the Harlem Shelter administration as personal assistant for Geoff. This seemed to be an odd choice of job. As a business graduate you would expect a more aspiring entry into working life. On the other hand, his mother had worked for Geoff Baisie for many years as secretary. Whether George wanted to follow the family tradition or was just too lethargic for a proper job search remained unclear. George appeared to be eager to do his job well, paying attention to detail. However, he didn't excel in ambition or determination. Apparently, he was content with the job at hand as long as it paid the bills.

Neal wouldn't have been Neal if he'd accepted the FBI investigation results without question. He hasn't worked out a plan yet, but felt it would be worth while to dig deeper into Geoff Baisie. Since Peter Burke was convinced that it was a dead end the ex con man decided to keep this idea to himself. As a temporary priest he was bound to secrecy, right?

To change the subject he unpacked the storyboard for the Graffiti project and started talking about the project.

Elizabeth was excited about the whole plan. 'These sketches are fantastic. So much creativity and talent. This will really make a difference to the kids as well as to the old building.'

Neal beamed with joy. 'Yes, it's so much fun. They are engaged right from the beginning. This will help them to see that it's worth committing oneself to a deed and seeing it through to the finish. They seem to be jaded and hardened, but you should see their enthusiasm for this! Thinking about it... you actually _should_ see it. We could need some professional help with organizing everything!'

Peter didn't want to be the killjoy, yet he couldn't help reminding his friend of the obvious. 'This sounds great, and I'd rather watch those kids painting an old building than arresting them for grand theft auto. Therefore, if you could keep them busy with doing some law-abiding Graffiti, you've got my blessing. However, this project will take weeks at least, more likely months. How long can Father Denis stay in New York? What will happen if you have to abandon the kids and the project?'

Caffrey brushed him off with a brazen sermon. 'God's blessing gained, all is obtained. Trust in the Lord, my son. Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.'

After Neal has left in a cab, Peter couldn't help but voice his concerns. 'El, he's so enthusiastic about this Graffiti thing... I'm afraid he's loosing his grip on reality here. He can't stay to see this through. Father Denis has to go back to France soon and he will not be able to come back. Neal will be brought back to earth with a very rough bump soon. He shouldn't set his heart on this project in order to avoid the sorrow when he has to leave.'

Elizabeth understood that her husband wanted to protect Neal; yet she also understood that their friend was able to make his own decisions. Neal seemed to behave irresponsibly, but she was convinced that he was onto something here. Someone said _'What you wish to kindle in others must burn within yourself_ '. Therefore, if he wanted to convince the young people at the center to give their life a purpose, he might have to find that for himself first.

However, it was late at night. So she just hugged her husband and ushered him upstairs. 'Let's cross that bridge when we get to it. We're talking about Neal. He's always bouncing back.'


	8. Meeting Odd Friends

Neal didn't bother to switch the lights on, even if it was dark, when he entered June's villa through the front entrance. He knew the 8 steps from the door to the staircase by heart and didn't need to see the old carpet with the upturned edge to avoid the tripping hazard.

Unexpectedly, he sensed the presence of another person even before he heard the little cough. A sly smile flashed over his face while he turned around and went over to the sitting area. 'What the hell, Mozzie! I thought you've taken on a job in Tokyo. What are you doing here?'

Mozzie just shrugged the question off. 'You run, I run. You come back, I come back, simple as that. What was I gonna do - not come? '

After hugging his friend, Neal took a chair to sit down. 'It has been a long time for both of us... But you'll never get this city out of your system. I certainly love being back;. Manhattan is my home, always will be. I take it that you must have missed it just as well. So, welcome back.'

Moz had to add his two cents. 'I may consider Manhattan my home, but – other than you – Brooklyn is not my backyard. I haven't been pining for any suits over the years.'

Neal replied in his best deadpan. 'I see. There is this really huge collection of stuffed animals in my namesake's bedroom. Starting with that teddy bear you gave the little boy as a present for his birth. Then this life sized Bengal tiger... Let's cloak the huge disaster with the diamond heist in Kolkata 5 years ago in silence. The tiger is still a nice souvenir... A panda bear, an ice bear, a giraffe, two rats, and numerous other animals from all over the world... Right through to the stuffed Japanese koi which arrived by mail only last week. You really don't care at all about the suits. I'm impressed by your armor of indifference.'

The little man dismissed that as beside the point. 'That's Neal. He's not a suit. There's still hope for the kid. I only tried to keep his childlike fantasy awake, creating neuronal stimuli by showing him the perks of a life in freedom and criminal splendor. He needs some ray of light in that life void of joy and full of bleakness.'

There was an ironic smile playing on Neal's lips. Yet he kept his mouth shut, knowing better than arguing with his friend.

Mozzie made a blatant attempt to change the subject. 'Why are we in New York? There's this rare Medici collection showing uptown. I heard the jewels in the exhibition are priceless. Is that our target?'

Caffrey wasn't caught flat-footed. 'It is indeed a priceless collection. Very nice exhibition pieces. But the security there is top notch, the escape routes are limited. It's just not worth the hassle. I'm here for a more important purpose. June needs my help, and in fact, I'm looking for an experienced security consultant.'

It wasn't necessary to do a lot of persuading to find Mozzie's unequivocal support. Helping June, solving a mystery and finding out about a genius forger at the same time seemed like winning the lottery to the weird guy.

Neal was feeding his friend with all the relevant information he has gathered so far. Soon afterwards Moz was already planning how to portray a security consultant. It took him only a few calls to schedule an informational interview with Geoff Baisie in order to assess the security system.

*** Next day... ***

It was Glenda who welcomed the security consultant at the front door. 'Mr. Haversham, nice to meet you. I'm so glad that you could meet us on such a short notice. You're early! I'm sorry but my husband isn't at home yet.'

Mozzie assured her that this shouldn't be a problem. They could start with a tour and discuss any details later on as soon as Geoff would return. Of course, he neither told her that it has been his plan to catch Glenda on her own to chat undisturbed nor that her husband would run late because his car was blocked by a delivery van in the parking lot.

After a while they were on first-name terms. Both of them went through the lower two floors to inspect the windows, back doors, and all the spots where paintings were hung up or sculptures placed. Mozzie took a scrutinizing look at a stairway leading upstairs. 'What's upstairs? We need to check those rooms as well!'

Glenda was skeptical. 'That won't be necessary. My sister used to live there. But since she has died, no one resides there. I haven't been there in ages.'

Still, Mozzie insisted on exploring the upper floor under the pretext that it needed to be included in the overall security concept. So, they climbed the stairs, and Glenda opened the double door to the apartment.

The furniture was under wraps to protect it against dust. Mozzzie helped Glendas to open the window blinds so that they could inspect the everything.

The landlady was surprised when she saw the room in daylight. 'Dante, look at this! The paintings are gone. I don't remember them being removed.' She seemed distressed.

There were a lot of paintings on the walls. Three spots were empty though which had obviously held paintings earlier on. Mozzie examined the surroundings, but didn't find any damage or signs of force indicating an illegal entering.

Glenda was relieved when she figured out which paintings were missing. 'All the paintings she created herself are still here. That would have been such a loss if they were gone. By the looks of it, some of the art pieces she bought in Europe are missing.'

According to Mrs. Baisie those had been created by some moderately successful artists who were not completely unknown to the art scene. Mozzie guessed from Glenda's description that the monetary value was no chump change but no overly large sum either.

He asked quite a few questions about Glenda's late sister. The old lady answered all of them freely and shared many stories. Her face brightened with every anecdote she told. It was obvious that she has loved her sister unconditionally.

Moz wanted to find out whether Mrs. Baisie was aware of Beth' side business. So he jokingly run it up the flagpole. 'Looking at these paintings I have to admit she had talent. I bet she could have put some of the old masters in the shade, or maybe an Impressionist like Renoir or Monet. She could have made some money from it.'

According to June, Renoirs as well as a Monet had been among the paintings forged by Queenie and sold by Byron.

Glenda gave a silvery laugh. 'Queenie? Never! Look at those paintings. Yes, she was talented beyond any limitations. But she preferred a confusing surreal style. _Why would you paint anything that looks like the real thing? If you want the real thing, take a photo. I'd rather paint what I feel than what I see._ That's what she always said.'

Mozzie was satisfied that Glenda had no clue about the range of her sister's artistic talent or her criminal love for adventure.

Later downstairs they met Geoff. He had no idea about the missing paintings either. However, Mozzie couldn't deny some doubts regarding his sincerity. Just like Neal he had a hunch that there was more in that man but couldn't put a finger on it.

George, the PA, brought an insurance inventory list of the valuables in the house. The four of them went through the document. George seemed to know a lot of details about each and every item, not only the estimated value but also how it was bought as well as where it was put up.

Mozzie commented on that. 'That young man is quite an asset; he's really familiar with these items. That will be helpful when we need to decide on the details of the security layout. I guess his history with your family pays off. You need years to internalize this intimate knowledge.'

Glenda seemed to be confused. 'George is very smart. He's been with us only since last December. I'm very glad that he applied for the job. Apparently, they had a course in Charity Management at the university where he learned about the Harlem Shelter.'

Geoff chimed in. 'It was a lucky coincidence indeed. During the Thanksgiving holidays I had talked to Glenda about needing a bit of help in organizing everything. Believe it or not, Monday morning I found George's application on my desk. We only needed one interview to agree that he's a perfect fit. So, his history with us is rather short, but I agree he's a real asset. It's good to have him.'

George confirmed that and expressed how much he loved his job. Not even once had he regretted to work for the charity so far.

Mozzie listened closely, paying attention to the look on the faces of his hosts. Again, Glenda radiated honesty and disarming frankness. Whereas Geoff's joviality seemed artificial even though it was delivered skilfully.

George by contrast blushed when talking about how he had searched for the address to send his letter of application to. He wasn't a versed liar.

This was an interesting detail he needed to discuss with Neal. So far he had no idea why they should hide any connection to George's mother who had worked many years for Geoff. It seemed to be worth looking into though.


	9. Finally a clue

(AN: Sorry, I wanted to write shorter chapters in order to publish sooner. I didn't. Shame on me. I work on it. Promised.)

Neal had spent all day working on the Graffiti project. Even Sister Mary Frances was stunned by his enthusiasm, drive and the time he invested in the project. Usually he didn't leave before 10:30 pm because most of the young people came in the evening hours to stay until it closed at 10 pm. Neal was always there to help cleaning the mess afterwards.

Even if it was close to midnight when he opened the door to his apartment, he wasn't surprised to by the familiar guest. 'Moz, always a pleasure to find you and an open bottle of my wine in my home. How was your day? Any breaking news?'

The little man was a bit miffed and made no bones about it. 'You wouldn't have to ask if you had answered your phone. I tried to call you. You just ignored me! I even left a message to call me back.'

No stranger to Mozzie's tantrums, Neal took the outburst calmly. '27. You left me exactly 27 messages. I only heard them on my way home. Sorry man, but when I'm working with the kids, I don't take calls. That would be lacking respect as well as breaking my concentration. Which I have told you. Repeatedly. So, here I am. What's the news?'

After listening to the detailed report of Mozzie's visit to Glenda and Geoff Baisie he needed a while to collect his thoughts. 'I'm wondering why Glenda seems to be in the dark about George's mum. I'd like to know whether that secretary might have been fired because of some fishy activities. We should make some inquiries to look into this.'

Mozzie agreed. 'I could do some research which will take time. Some Federal support would come in handy. The Bureau has access to all the data we need in the computer system. For once, we could use their powers. The suits owe us some information for having used all these sources against us.'

Neal sympathized with that view. Truth be told, he was beaming at the thought. 'That shouldn't be a problem at all. I'm going to visit Peter and Jones tomorrow morning in the office. It won't take us long to come up with something.'

His friend stared at him in disbelief. 'Seriously? Father Denis Jardin, a priest of the Catholic Church, waltzes into the FBI bearing an uncanny resemblance to the _ex_ -criminal, _ex_ -CI, _ex_ -living person Neal Caffrey who died tragically during the arrest of the Pink Panthers years ago... Sounds like a stellar idea to me!'

Said ex CI couldn't hide the look of disappointment darkening his eyes. Sitting once again with the team in the conference room, swapping ideas, checking facts, constructing or negating a theory, damn, how he was missing that! Mozzie had a point though; there was no way he could pull that stunt without blowing his cover. Letting go of that idea came with an unexpected sense of loss. Neal found it hard to swallow that but told himself not to become pathetic in his old age.

Moz, by all means, could be an annoying pain in the butt at times - but never so when it really mattered. He understood his friend's frustration, hence made his point surprisingly tactful. 'Why don't you call him and arrange a meeting for lunch. That should work just as well. Just choose the rendezvous point wisely though, unless you want to end up eating deviled ham sandwiches, my friend.'

Since this sounded like a reasonable compromise, the priest arranged to meet with his FBI friends at a new French brasserie a few blocks away from the FBI offices. Over lunch the very next day, Caffrey briefed both Peter and Clinton, giving a summary of the recent events leading to the interesting question calling for research.

After listening silently, Agent Burke was dumbfounded. 'You did what? Sent in that neurotic, notorious criminal as a security consultant? Have you lost your mind?'

Clinton grinned broadly. 'Told you so! The little guy is back in town; my sources are reliable. This is just like in the good old days.' He respected Peter as a boss and liked him as a friend. Still, he couldn't deny being amused watching how easy Caffrey managed to drive the ASAC round the bent with predictable likelihood.

Rather than acting contrite, Neal displayed the bold cheekiness that was this trademark. 'Come on, don't get into a huff because your special agents haven't found this lead first. Moz is actually quite an expert regarding security systems. There was no risk at all for him to be revealed as an imposter.'

That comment was not particularly helpful in calming Peter down. 'I was not thinking about the risk for Mozzie, but rather about the risk for anyone letting that felon into his house to look for security loopholes!'

However, both FBI agents considered the news Mozzie brought up as quite interesting. Clinton promised to put the Harvard crew to work. They had already checked the background of every employee who has been working for the charity within the last 3 years. Since George's mother has left the company earlier, they've had no material on her so far.

This time Peter wasn't surprised when he came home in the evening to find Neal on his couch. He hasn't expected anything else since he knew how eager his friend was for news on the case. He heard Mozzie's and El's voices in the kitchen which didn't surprise him either. Accordingly, he went over to greet his wife, acknowledge Mozzie's presence, and snatch some food samples.

Jones came over later on with the report the FBI team had created on Edna Porter, George's mother. He joined them for diner, happy as usually to have one of El's delicate meals.

Edna Porter has worked for Geoff over 26 year as a receptionist, secretary and general clerk. Edna was in her early twenties when she joined the sales agency after completing a secretarial course. There was no irregularity reported in all those years. Apparently, her boss has been very satisfied with her services because she received regular bonuses. After her son George was born, she cut down working hours to a part time job. She had lived in the far end of Queens formerly, but moved closer to Manhattan into an apartment in a decent neighborhood after George's birth. Edna had retired when Geoff had closed his business. So she was keeping herself busy with her poodle and yoga classes nowadays. Her personal life seemed to be rather ordinary and unspectacular.

Moz reacted quite disappointed to that report. 'That is all these Harvard graduates could come up with? There must be more. Amateurs! What a shame; the FBI is a complete waste of my tax money!'

Of course, Peter had to protest vehemently. 'Since when do you pay taxes? In which country? Under what name?'

The little man huffed, not willing to give in. 'That's besides the point, Suit.'

Jones brought up another file to share with the others. 'We found something more. Nothing illegal, but rather unusual.'

Edna had accompanied Geoff to a lot of conferences and sales meetings all over the US, even to Europe once in a while. 'Don't get me wrong, but Geoff's sales business wasn't that big. If you're Bill Gates, you might travel with your own PA. Yet if you have only a handful of employees, it's not very common to take an employee with you to take notes or write letters.'

By all appearances they had traveled a lot over the years. Usually, they went on a business trip at least every 3 months. Furthermore, the conferences they attended were mostly in very agreeable places whereas the conference motto seemed often a bit inappropriate. There was a conference in Hawaii about innovative sales incentives for large scale corporations. Another symposium in Hongkong was about emerging markets in China.

Jones concluded his report. 'That doesn't sound to me like the type of information session a moderately successful sales agent would attend. Wouldn't mind going to conference to Maui myself though...'

Neal chimed in. 'So, it seems that Sister Mary Frances might have been right after all. Geoff had an affair. He is a cheating, lying, unfaithful bastard. If that went on for years unnoticed by Glenda, he must be an expert in covering up. '

Jones had even more news to share. 'Now, it gets weird. According to the birth certificate, Edna's husband has been George's father. They both were high school sweethearts and married young. Sam Porter served in the navy. He was deployed abroad 11 months before his son was born. Without any home leave it is very unlikely that he's the biological father. Unfortunately, Sam never made it home alive but fell in the Iraq War I. Therefore, we can't ask him about this.'

Peter browsed through the report. 'Apparently, Edna bought that new apartment soon after George's birth. She paid in cash. Real estate prices in New York were much lower back then. Still, there is no way that she could have afforded a 2 bedroom apartment with a view on Manhattan on her own. There were no savings worth mentioning and neither her salary nor Sam's pay were even close to the amount necessary for this transaction.'

Mozzie drew the obvious conclusion. 'Geoff is George's father. Edna kept her mouth shut about it, yet had been taken care of financially. I bet Glenda has no clue about it.'

Neal developed this thought further. 'Look, that is exactly where the Vermeer comes into place! You checked Geoff's books. There was no such payment listed. Glenda would have noticed if the money had been taken from their private account. The charity money was under close supervision. I bet George swopped the forgery for the real painting. Probably, he found a private collector who was willing to pay a small fortune without asking questions about the art's origin. See, it wasn't Byron!'

Peter had to kill the enthusiasm. 'Nice theory, Sherlock Holmes. Only, we will never be able to prove this. Without evidence or a confession this is just fiction and will not hold up in any trial. In fact, it is so thin there will not even be a trial. We need more than a flight of fancy.'

Now that Neal had come so far in finding a prove for Byron's innocence, he wasn't willing to let go so easily. 'I'll talk to him. I'm a con man. He will tell me something. Sweet-talking people into giving away secrets is my specialty. If I pay him a casual visit, maybe tomorrow evening, that should set the ball rolling.'

The FBI agent answered with blistering sarcasm. 'Oh yeah, I can almost see how this will happen. You think after years of masterful cover-up Geoff will give Father Denis Jardin a full confession, walk with you to the next precinct, and we can wrap up the case? Thank you very much!'

That comment upset Caffrey. 'I'm not stupid. I'm not expecting a confession. Nevertheless, I can find out details, maybe a name of the buyer or the guy who handled the financials. That would be a start. From there your FBI robots can follow the trace.'

His former handler did not agree. 'No, Neal. You're not going to confront Geoff with your unproven suspicion. The FBI is taking this from here. As much as I hate to say this, you're not longer my CI. You and Mozzie have already done more undercover work than I can rightfully condone. Clinton's team will do the necessary background research. As soon as they found evidence to support a reasonable suspicion they will interview Mr. Baisie. You will have to stay out of this.'

Neal tried to cut in. However, Peter just closed the case files, not giving him any chance to intervene. The agent went on with his rant. 'Furthermore, my wife and I will have a lovely date night tomorrow. It's actually the last evening before her parents bring back our beloved, though demanding son. As a matter of fact, the past fortnight went quite different than we had actually anticipated. Therefore, no stints tomorrow but a quiet evening for only El and me. End of story!'

As much as Neal and Mozzie tried to argue, they couldn't change the agent's mind about this. Finally Neal backed down. 'Well, that's that then. Now the ball is in your court. Make me proud!' Even fighting a losing battle didn't stop him from being cheeky.

Before they left, Caffrey insisted that he'd be kept up to date by the FBI about the progress of the investigations on a regular basis. Peter knew that this was not strictly to the rules but understood that the other man wouldn't stop badgering without that promise. Therefore, he agreed to keep his friend in the loop.

On their way home, Mozzie went on grumbling. 'So, you're going to sit at home, drink a cup of tea, and let the FBI botch up this case? I don't get it. What has happened to the old Neal Caffrey?'

Neal glared at him impatiently. 'Don't be stupid! Of course, I'm going to pay Geoff a visit tomorrow. June is so worried about this. Who knows how long the FBI will need to sort this out. We don't have time. We'll tell Peter later on when we present him the necessary evidence to close the case. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. However, I need help with the equipment for recording our little conversation. And I will need to talk to Geoff in private. Someone needs to ensure that Glenda isn't at home when I come over. I assume I can count on your assistance?'


	10. He doesn't like Guns

Neal didn't like guns, never had and probably won't ever like them. Nevertheless, he was a good shot, more than able to handle a weapon well. Holding a gun made him feel uncomfortable though. Some people felt powerful with a weapon in their hands. Neal felt always uncomfortable with it.

However, sitting at the wrong end of a gun, whilst starring at the barrel pointed to his chest, made him dislike guns even more.

While keeping his cool appearance Caffrey tried to figure out how this evening has gone south so fast. Everything had started off well...

Moz had caused a little security incident at the 'Harlem Shelter For Kids'... An obviously freaky person had turned up at the shelter to demand an audience with the Governor of Panama. He had tried to storm upstairs to the administrative wing of the building. It was impossible to convince him this was not the palace to the government of Panama. Glenda had been called and tried her best to talk the guest into leaving. Even after extensive negotiations he hadn't been willing to go, but rather referred to the Robles–Johnson treaty and his vindicated rights to speak to the Governor himself. Just moments before the police arrived the person had disappeared through the back door.

Mozzie had spent all afternoon on his disguise so that Glenda would not recognize him as the security consultant whom she has met only a few days ago. Even Neal had been impressed by his friend's transformation.

That part of their scheme had went according to plan. Glenda was staying late to check the building with two police officers in order to ensure this had not been a smoke screen for a break-in attempt. Eventually, she stayed on to calm down the staff.

Caffrey had been equipped with a wireless video and audio recording device. The camera had been placed in the button of his jacket. The signal was transmitted to a receiver hidden in a car parked across the street.

Neal had felt quite confident on his way to see Geoff - knowing that all the necessary preparations went well. He had brought a huge portfolio with sketches from the Graffiti project as an excuse to see Glenda.

The con man had feigned surprise on learning that she wasn't at home yet, but accepted Geoff's invitation to come in and wait for her return. They had gone to the study, shared even a glass of wine while chitchatting.

Neal was wondering now if he had directed the small talk too fast to art topics, or whether the knowledge he had demonstrated about the case of the forged Vermeer had given him away. Admitting to knowing Glenda's sister Beth had been a talented painter – well, that has definitely been a mistake.

Geoff had suddenly eyed him very suspiciously. His voice had sounded cold and biting. 'I wasn't aware that you knew about Queenie. Have you met her somewhere?'

Caffrey had wanted to kick himself. How could he be so out of practice? Mozzie would give him a good telling of for that rookie mistake later on. However, he had tried to save the situation. 'Not at all, your wife told me about her incredibly talented sister when I was here. Must have been before you arrived that evening...'

Geoff had shaken his head. 'No. No, I don't think so. Glenda doesn't talk about her sister to strangers without good reason. Give it another shot! I'm all ears.'

Neal had tried to bluff it out. 'I'm a priest. You wouldn't believe how many people trust me instinctively and share secrets they usually bottle up. That comes with the job.'

But the old man hadn't been convinced. 'What do you know about the Vermeer? Let's talk shop!'

Caffrey had noticed himself how evasive he sounded. He was wriggling for an answer. This interview didn't go as expected. He decided to call it quits.

When he was getting out of his chair Geoff stopped him. 'Not so fast. I don't think you wanna leave right now. We should bring our chat to a satisfactory conclusion first. Sit down!'

Up next he addressed his his PA. 'George, please lock the door.'

The sound of the key turning in the door sounded to Neal doom-laden. But he had talked his way out of much more desolate situations before. Therefore, this was no reason to grow desperate.

Of course, that was before Geoff had opened the top drawer to take out a Derringer 357 Magnum and level the weapon at Neal.

No, he didn't like guns at all. Right now, he wished he had listened to Peter's advice for once. Unfortunately, the FBI agent was enjoying a romantic dinner with his wife at a mediocre Italian restaurant downtown. Mozzie was not supposed to turn up for at least another hour.

He was on his own and was wondering if a fake priest could hope for a miracle.


	11. Start of a promising evening

Elizabeth recounted a funny anecdote about a customer who had ordered a surprise party for his wife's birthday. An hour before the party should start, he realized that he had put the name of his former wife in the order. That is why her team had tried to save the party by changing banner, cake icing and welcome signs in a heroic, but rushed rescue mission. 'So, I told Yvonne to...' She stopped in mid-sentence when she realized that her husband was lost in in his own thoughts.

It took Peter a full minute to realize that she was staring at him and has stopped talking. 'I'm sorry, El. Knowing you, I can tell you saved the day. Was the wife appropriately surprised?'

She shook her head, smiling knowingly. 'I remember that look on your face. It's Neal. Something he has done or is planning to do that worries you. You better tell me!'

Peter refused. 'No way! This is the last evening we have to ourselves before our little Neal comes back. I don't wanna spoil it. Let's enjoy this exquisite Tagliatelle with Truffles before we take a look at the dessert menu. Let me pour you another glass of wine! I won't think anymore about our priestly friend tonight. Cross my heart!'

After almost 20 years of marriage El knew better. 'That's not going to work. Just tell me what is bothering you. Let's talk about it. There's no need pretending you're not worried.'

Her husband sighed but shared his concerns. 'I talked to Neal on the phone today. Twice, actually. He was very curious about the progress of our research and even made some good suggestions regarding other sources to contact.'

El didn't get the point. 'Isn't that good? He wants to help June. That is why he is interested in your findings. I don't see how that is cause for concern?'

Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey had a long history going way back though. Accordingly, the older man sensed when something was off. He understood instinctively what made his friend tick. 'That's not how Neal's mind works. Waiting for the FBI to do what we do best would be the sensible thing to do. But Neal Caffrey, con man extraordinaire, is convinced that he can do better. He wants to waltz in, fishing for information, convicting Baisie of selling the forged Vermeer, thus wrapping the case with a bow. Just yesterday, he was on fire to do exactly that. Today when I asked him about his plans he just said he'd wait for my report and would be spending the evening working on this Graffiti project. I'm not buying this.'

Elizabeth agreed with her husband. 'You should call him or even better that nun, Sister Mary Frances, to check his whereabouts.'

Peter looked a bit sheepishly. 'Well, I did that already when you went to the restroom earlier on. I can't reach him. Even more alarming, he hasn't turned up to work with the kids. I'm so sorry, this should be our evening rather than a Neal Caffrey search operation.'

Worry was written all over El's face now. 'Go! He has probably gotten himself into trouble of one way or another. You need to find him!'

Since El offered to call a taxi to go home, Peter took his car to speed uptown. He had a very clear idea where to start looking.

He found a parking spot right in front of the building, jumped out of the car, and started knocking at Glenda and Geoff Baisie's front door. However, the house was dark, no-one seemed to be at home.

To his surprise he spotted another familiar face while walking around the residence. 'Moz, where's Neal? What reckless idea have the both of you hatched this time?'

Mozzie was obviously upset. 'He's not here! I have no idea where he is. I was supposed to meet him here. Suit, we need to find him!'

Peter knocked again on the door, yelling repeatedly at the top of his voice. 'FBI! Open the door!'

There was no reaction. The building seemed deserted. Therefore, he fetched the big Maglite from the car to search the backyard.

Mozzie, who tagged along, yelled suddenly, pointing to the steps at the back door. 'There, shine the light to the stairs! What's that?'

Peter crouched down to stare at a small pool of dark liquid. This was blood and it was fresh. Some more droplets were spread over the sidewalk. But was it Neal's blood?

He directed his rage towards Mozzie. 'What did Neal do? Usually you know his every step. Couldn't you put a bug on him? For once, your absurd Russian surplus gadgets would be very helpful!'

Mozzie's face lit up. 'Suit! After all, you're starting to earn your exorbitant salary. Stop fussing! Of course, he was wired. Let's check the recording!'

AN:

Thanks for all your reviews. Love them. And I'm posting smaller chapters now to update more regular.


	12. Less promising course of the evening

***AN: guess no-one will be offended, but still: Neal Whump will start in this chapter and continue in the next one ***

It didn't take Mozzie long to retrieve the recorder and connect it to the media center in Peter's car. Both men followed the videotaped recording on the large screen. It was a bit weird seeing everything from the perspective of Neal's button at the level of his chest where the camera had been placed.

Mozzie watched horror-stricken as Geoff drew the gun. 'Look, Suit, he has a weapon!'

Peter was already anxious himself. Therefore, his patience was wearing thin. 'I have eyes to see it myself! Shut up and let me listen!'

The little man huffed but held his tongue as they watched Geoff interrogating Neal in order to find out what the priest knew. Neal, on the other hand, redirected the questions fishing for information about the criminal activities in question. His own answers were obfuscating at best however.

George stayed in the background, blocking the door although it was already locked.

Geoff wasn't clever enough to handle the con man's skillful way of manipulative communication. As a result, Peter learned from the tape that Geoff had been involved in the Vermeer swop, unauthorized selling of Queenie's belongings, tampering with the accounts of the charity, and fraudulent real estate investments.

Agent Burke worked already mentally on the charges he was going to press when he'd caught that son of bitch.

However, Geoff changed his tactics since he came to the conclusion that the priest wouldn't admit anything. 'You seem to forget that I have a gun, Father. I suggest you'd better start cooperating if you don't want to end up with a .357 inch hole in your heart!'

Peter couldn't see Neal's face, yet from listening to the voice he could imagine the sleek grin. 'If you shoot me here, there will be blood and bone fragments all over the place. Seriously, it would be a mess. Glenda wouldn't be amused, trust me. Even if you clean up everything … When the CSI, or in this case the FBI, comes looking for me, they'll find the traces. This being the case, I don't think you will shoot me here.'

Peter winced at Caffrey's brazen cheekiness. Sometimes his friend didn't know when to stop. Baisie wouldn't be amused...

It took Geoff a moment to digest that insolence. 'Fair enough, you might have a point here. We need to bring you somewhere else. Unfortunately, I guess you won't go along voluntary.' Having said that, he seemed to nod a signal towards George who was standing behind Neal. The next sound that was heard on the recording was a loud thump. Thereafter, Neal tumbled over, the angle of view of the camera changed abruptly, and a shriek of pain resounded from the loudspeaker boxes in the car.

George came forward placing a metal statue on the desk. Moz gaped at the screen, obviously shocked. 'There's blood on it. Suit, what have they done?'

Peter was stunned himself, but he hushed the little man in order to listen to the further conversation.

Quite contrary to Neal's friends, Geoff seemed as cool as cucumber. 'Is he still alive? Okay, then punch him in the face a few times. It should look as if he'd gotten into a fight. Don't forget to wear a glove because you don't want your DNA on him. Then bring some detergent. We need to clean the statue. I can't let the art disappear, Glenda would notice that it's missing.'

Moz and Peter stared in horror as George bent over the unconscious Neal to smash up his face twice. Listening to that sound followed by a soft groaning made Peter's stomach turn.

Both men watched the rest of the tape in silence. Geoff informed George they would take the priest up north, to the more dangerous part of Harlem where the older man planned to shoot the clergy. It would look as if the priest had been involved in a fight and was killed by the opponent who came armed to the encounter. 'You know, it was just the same when I had to kill my sis in law. It looked like a mugging, the area was known for thugs, so no-one put that into question. Queenie, just like this nuisance here, couldn't keep out of my affairs. Some people are just too nosy for their own good.'

George and Geoff each put one of Neal's arms over the shoulder, stabilizing his back furthermore. The PA was wondering whether the neighbors wouldn't be suspicious spotting them carrying someone outside.

His father reassured him. 'Don't worry. Wouldn't be the first priest who'd got drunk and needed a lift home. Just act as if we'd help him to the car.'

The recording ended a minute after Neal was dumped in the trunk. According to Mozzie the Bluetooth transmitter lost the connection to the receiver once Geoff started driving. Even a high end Bluetooth device, like the bug Mozzie has used, couldn't bridge that distance.

Peter had already dialed the number of the FBI to put out a BOLO for Geoff's car and locate his phone. However, locating the mobile phone required a judge to issue an order. Since here was no time to waste, the agent dialed another number in Washington. It took only seconds until the call was answered.

Agent Burke lost no times with pleasantries. 'Diana, I need your help - now! I'll explain later. I've never asked too many question about the division you're working for, but I know you won't need a judicial order to locate a phone. Please, do me the favor to find a friend in need!'

Even though Diana was at home, she could connect remotely to the FBI system and needed only a few moments to retrieve the information. After giving the exact location to Peter, she concluded, 'This is your Neal-is-head-over-heels-in-trouble voice. I hope you find him in time. Say _Hi_ from me. I didn't know that he's back in the States. Last time I checked on him, he was still in France...'

Peter had already started racing to the location Diana gave him before the call was disconnected, hoping desperately to come in time to rescue his friend. However, he was wondering if there was anyone left who hasn't known all those years that Neal hadn't been killed by Keller. Apparently, many people knew or guessed the truth but kept their mouth shut to protect the con man.

The pale face of Neal in the morgue haunted him to this day. He tried to ban the image from his thoughts. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to ID his friend once more in the morgue. He just needed to make sure this was not going to happen.


	13. Priest in a trunk

Neal struggled to wake up. His mind was in a haze. He realized the darkness surrounding him before he heard the engine noises and felt the typical movements of a car on a bumpy road.

His head was hurting, big time. Although it was obvious that he was trapped in a trunk, the con man had no idea what was going on. His memories ended in Geoff Baisie's study. The image of a gun flashed through is mind, Baisie's unpleasant grin, a sharp pain on the back of his skull.

When Neal fingered his head, he felt blood forming a scab. _Ouch_. He understood that his situation was not good. There were confusing sounds of voices talking in the passenger compartment, a few shards of conversation wafting over... 'I'll do the killing...' 'set back from the road' 'security camera?' 'Toughen up'

The feeling of nausea grew stronger by the minute. The pain, the darkness, the buzzing of the car, the smell of his blood. Neal had to focus in order to suppress the urge to gag. He had decided it was better if his captors remained unaware that he regained consciousness.

If only he had brought his lock pick set... Too bad he had decided that disguised as a priest he wouldn't need it. With a lock pick he could have opened the trunk manually regardless of the central locking system. Without the lock picks his attempts to open the trunk were in vain.

Peter, suddenly he thought about Peter and a plan began to form in his mind. Fortunately, the con man found his burner phone in the jacket pocket. Calling the agent was no option because Geoff and George would hear him.

Texting a message should work, though. The ex-CI wondered how to express his urgent need for help without wasting too many words. The car slowed down and probably he was running out of time.

Thinking about the other times he had called Peter for help gave him an idea. He typed the message on his phone and hit the send button. _'Jimmy Burger needs help.'_ There was no way that the FBI agent would fail to read this as the desperate cry for help it was meant to be. Peter would find him. He always had, even if the former criminal hadn't always been too enthusiastic about that fact.

*** A few miles away in a different car ***

Peter Burke saw the message popping up on the phone. Although the phone number was unknown to him, the message was clean-cut.

Since the phone was connected to the car media system, Moz saw the message, too. 'Who's Jimmy Burger? That's an awful alias. One of your FBI fabrications?'

The agent ignored the rant. 'It's Neal. He's alive. But if we don't hurry, that might change soon!' _You know I'm always here for you..._

George Basie had an advantage of about 20 Minutes. However, he had to drive carefully because he didn't want to attract any unwanted attention of police patrol cars. He knew the general area where he intended to finish Neal off, yet needed to look out for a good spot, a deserted street, preferably a dead end with broken street lamps. Those spots were not unusual in Harlem yet he needed to act inconspicuous or people might remember his car later on.

Agent Burke on the other hand has switched on the mobile blue lights he had in his car to dash without concern of traffic rules, red lights or speed limits. Since Diana kept him up to date with Geoff's current phone location, he made up leeway. Yet there were still a few miles between him and Geoff's car.

Peter told Mozzie to answer Neal's message. ' _On our way, mon frère! BTW, the suit is here as well. If he doesn't kill us with his driving skills, we'll come to your rescue._ '

*** Back in the trunk ***

When the car came to halt, Neal prepared to jump and take flight. Unfortunately, he stared directly into a gun barrel directed at his face when the trunk opened. Furthermore, the light of the street lamps shining into his eyes caused a piercing pain which made it very hard to think clearly.

Geoff was less than thrilled to find him conscious. 'Oh, not again. This pest of a priest is trying my patience sorely. You should have hit him harder to knock him out for good. Look, he has regained consciousness. That's so annoying...'

Neal wouldn't have been himself if he hadn't tried to talk himself out of the situation, or at least playing for time until Peter came for his rescue . 'Come on, this must be a misunderstanding. I don't know what went wrong in the first place, but I'm sure we can sort his out. Let's find a place where we can get a decent Single Malt and have a talk.'

However, Geoff downright ignored this offer but addressed his son instead. 'Let's get him out of the car. We need to bring him to that side road over there. It looks appropriately dark and shabby for the intended purpose.'

Geoff was still holding the gun when they manhandled Neal out of the car. Only then, Neal felt the pain ripping through his knee. He couldn't suppress a wail of pain. Looking at his limb he realized the weird angle of his lower leg. Until now, the ache in his head had been too overwhelming for him to notice the piercing feeling in the leg.

George seemed to be worried. 'I told you his knee got twisted when we dragged him down the stairs into the car. He won't be able to walk on that leg.'

Whereas Geoff was less squeamish, just gagged the hurt man with a scarf before rebuffing the younger man. 'He doesn't have to walk far. We got him into the car, we'll get him down that darn road. We just have to make sure that he doesn't make any noise or attract any other attention. Let's get this done! It's getting cold and I don't wanna spend the night here.'

Neal felt completely helpless. He had been in desperate situations before, but with the pain in his head and knee he was barely able to hold up. This was a new experience to him. Usually he'd always managed to gain at least a certain amount of control when being in a destitute situation.

For the very first time the con man thought about the possibility that for once Peter might come too late to save his neck. That idea was quite unpleasant and depressing. However, he dismissed that thought as ridiculous. Peter would always find him, plus he would never be too late.


	14. Showdown

Peter stopped the car as soon as he had spotted Geoff's deserted sedan. He and Mozzie were searching the area for Neal.

It was Moz who spotted something lying on the pavement. He went over to the side street to pick it up. 'Look, Suit! It's Neal's pocket square. He must have lost it.'

The FBI agent looked at the small burgundy silken handkerchief which had probably cost more than the agent's suit. 'He hasn't lost it. He dropped it to leave a trace for us. They must have gone down there. Stay behind me!'

It didn't take them long to find what they were looking for. Although, a sterrible sight greeted them. George held the struggling Neal in a headlock while Geoff was holding a gun. 'Choke him! I'm risking to hit you if I shoot with him flailing around.'

Peter had the moment of surprise on his side since Geoff hasn't noticed the FBI agent so far. 'FBI! Drop the gun! Now!'

And once again, even louder, 'NOW!'

Geoff turned around - but neither dropped nor lowered the gun. His glazed eyes were proof of a growing madness. 'Stay out of this. It's none of your business!'

The agent came slowly closer, staying on his guard against any unforeseen reaction from either Geoff or George. All the time he was pointing his weapon at Geoff. As glad as he was glad to find his friend still alive, seeing the blood stained hair, bruises on the face, twisted leg and the eyes distorted with pain didn't help calming his nerves. 'Neal, how are you? You alright?'

At first the only thing to be heard was a muffled groan. But finally Neal managed to speak in a very strained voice. 'I'm fine. No need to worry.' An anguished cry of pain followed the poor attempt to put up a brave face. Peter registered that the fake French accent was gone. Another bad sign... Neal would always stay in character of his alias unless... well unless something went really wrong.

George was confused. 'Who is Neal? I thought his name was Daniel?'

His father was no help 'Denis, not Daniel, you moron! I don't know what this priest has to do with the FBI, and I don't care either. Let's finish this!'

Shortly after, a lot of things happened more or less at the same time leading to utter chaos...

Mozzie heard Geoff cocking the gun. So he pressed forward, blocking Peter's sight to the armed man. Geoff yelled, 'No step further!'

Mozzie yelled, 'Neal!'

Peter yelled, 'Step out of my line of fire!'

George kicked on Neal's injured leg.

Neal cried and collapsed.

4 shots were fired.

Someone cried.

Neal and George both went down.

Then another shot. Followed by a moment of bizarre silence.

What has happened?

Apparently, Geoff had lost his nerves and tried to shoot Neal – even though that wouldn't have solved his problem with the FBI. Being a ruthless but inexperienced shooter, he fired all the bullets to make sure he hit the target.

George got killed by a heart shot. He has been bent over Neal to prevent him from putting up any more resistance. When his father aimed for the priest, his son got killed by friendly fire.

Peter had managed a clean shot to Geoff's upper arm, making the crazy shooter dropping the gun immediately - just as intended. It took the agent only moments to cuff the wounded man. He didn't really care about Baisie's protest and cries of pain when he grabbed the injured arm to handcuff him in the back. As soon as the whining killer was secured tightly, Peter rushed over to his friend.

Neal had been hit, too. Blood was soaking his jacket. Mozzie was paralyzed from shock, gasping with open mouth and big eyes, unable to act. He had seen his friend dead already once; staring at the pale face brought back too many unwanted memories.

Peter was equally alarmed, yet tried to remain cool. 'Neal, where were you hit?'

The ex-con has been hit in the shoulder. Not a deadly wound by itself, though on top of all his other injuries he felt weary, not able to hold up his pretended cheerfulness. 'I'm feeling not so good. Chilly... 's hurting.' His eyes glazed over, the speech became slurred.

Fortunately, the agent was used to emergency situations. He remained calm and dealt effectively with the situation. First, he sent Mozzie over to the car to fetch the first aid kit and a blanket. Next, he called 911 while wrapping Neal in his own jacket. 'You're going to be okay. Stop whining and cowboy up!'

That advice raised a faint smile on Neal's face. Apparently, he wasn't going to die! Otherwise his friend of many years wouldn't ask him to cowboy up but wear a funeral expression on his face and talk to him in the pitiful voice he only used in deathbed situations.

All the time while Peter was applying a pressure bandage to the wound in order to staunch the flow of blood, taking the pulse, and placing the blanket under Neal to shield him from the cold he was hoping his friend would make it. There was a lot of blood. The heart rate was alarmingly slow. Peter couldn't bear the thought of losing his friend. Again. Yet he knew it was important to revive Neal's spirits in order to keep the fight in him. Giving in to his worries would make Neal insecure. So, ' _Cowboy up'_ , seemed to be the right approach then.

After all those years, knowing how to play the other one went both ways. Neal wasn't the only one who had learned that trick...

It seemed like an eternity, even though it had taken only minutes until wailing sirens announced the ambulance car coming.

AN:

Apologies. I just noticed how long this story is by now and that I started it ... quite a while ago. Thanks for bearing with me. I love your comments and support!


	15. All Clear

'Are you a relative to the Father? If not, I'm not authorized to talk to you about his medical condition. We've already informed Bishop Dolan. He advised that Father Denis is a visiting priest from France with no kinship in New York.' The doubting look on the doctor's face wasn't particularly helpful in calming Agent Burke down.

It might not have been a good idea in the first place to plant himself in front of the female who had introduced herself as Doctor Blythe, demanding information in the same voice he used to bring Satchmo to heel, or attempting to storm the emergency operation room.

After the recent events of the evening, plus waiting for hours in the hospital for a doctor to turn up, his patience was already low. The anxious agent was gritting his teeth whilst permanently clenching and unclenching his fists.

Before he'd go ballistic, Elizabeth chimed in. 'Why, yes! Father Denis is my cousin and also my son's godfather. We're so worried about him, Doctor Blythe.'

Being addressed in a respectful and proper manner was apparently the right approach. The young doctor seemed to be more willing to talk to the amiable lady bearing distinct resemblance to the priest than to the furious man with the intimidating body language.

So she gave the Burkes a detailed report on the surgery and Neal's current medical condition. 'The surgery went actually quite well. Your cousin lost a lot of blood, but we could stop the bleeding. His shoulder will hurt for a while; though with proper physical therapy there should be no restriction of motion left. His lateral meniscus has been damaged. That is why the Father will need to use clutches for a while. Yet again, no permanent damage should remain. I should mention that he has had a concussion which will cause him headache for a few days. All in all, he has been lucky that none of his injuries have been more severe.'

That sounded promising indeed, but Peter Burke wouldn't settle down until he had seen for himself that Neal Caffrey was alive and well. The last time he had watched his friend being carried away on a stretcher had led him to the morgue. Usually he had nerves of steel - right now however, they were as thin as a sewing cotton.

Elizabeth sweet-talked the doctor into letting her husband into Neal's room. She knew Peter wouldn't be able to sleep tonight otherwise – and neither would she.

Eventually, Peter stood at the hospital bed relieved to watch the younger man asleep, the breathing calm and even. He had to take Neal's hand, feel its warmth, make sure blood was circulating in the veins. Even the skin looked rosy. The agent sat down on the uncomfortable chair next to the bed. He hadn't noticed until now how wired he had been for hours. But finally, he came back down with a huge wave of exhaustion and relief washing over him.

This time there was no body bag, no blueish face, no death. Overwhelmed by his emotions, tears were running down Peter's face. The agent needed a while before he was composed enough to go back to his wife.

Before Burke left the room, he checked the medical sheet clipped to the bed. Father Denis Jardin... He was hoping there would be no hassle with the Church. He might have to come up with a reasonable excuse why a priest was involved in a shooting. Furthermore, it would be good if there were no pictures taken of the injured priest to be filed away that could attract the attention of someone at the FBI who new Neal Caffrey.

*** Next Day ***

Peter Burke had spent the morning and early afternoon at the Bureau interrogating Geoff Baisie.

Baisie has kept no secrets. For whatever the reason, he seemed to be quite proud of his deeds and happy that he could finally share the details.

His criminal activities had in fact started when his secretary has fallen pregnant. Yes, he has loved his wife. But since Glenda was unable to conceive another child after a miscarriage, it was his right and only chance in life to father a child. Of course, his heir had to be brought up in style which didn't come cheap.

It was a shame that all the wealth belonged either to Glenda or the charity. Therefore, he had to be creative to tap additional sources of funding. Fudging cash payments and side deals with suppliers didn't get him far.

So one day he had found out that his talented sister in law enjoyed copying famous paintings, and she was good at doing it. Geoff had no idea that Queenie was actual a gifted forger; he'd rather thought she was acting out of boredom. She had copied several paintings not for sale but to improve her technique and explore new styles, like the Vermeer.

Unfortunately, she wasn't thrilled when Baisie had offered her a partnership: she should forge the paintings while he would handle selling and payment. Queenie had been offended, even laughed him down. Before she could tell her sister, Geoff had finished her off. What other option did he have?

Listening to him you felt it had been a necessary evil, more her fault than his. After all, he offered her a good deal which she had rejected.

For the next few years, he had enough forgeries to turn into cash one way or the other. Sometimes he just sold the forgeries to a fence; on other occasions he got involved in the act of swopping the forgeries with the real art. Later on, when there were no forgeries left, he started to sell Queenie's collection of French art one by one.

There have been other crimes and he was spilling all the details proudly. Geoff didn't seem to realize that he had killed his son but was rather living in his own screwy reality.

Peter left the rest of the interrogation to his team. He knew that an old lady would be very relieved to learn her late husband's name has been cleared. Unsurprisingly, Mozzie had been there already and filled her in on the recent events when the agent arrived at the hospital.

It was nevertheless important for June to get the official confirmation by the FBI agent. 'Thank you, Peter! You might think it's a little odd... I know Byron was a criminal. Nevertheless, he had his own code of honor. He would be appalled at the thought of stealing from a charity. This means a lot to me.'

Peter Burke was wondering why he actually didn't think it was odd indeed but made sense of her explanation. His straight and unwavering view of right and wrong has been adjusted by knowing Neal Caffrey over the years.

Accomplished that mission, the agent was on his way to visit the second hospital today. He had already spoken with the hospital staff to get an update on Caffrey's medical condition. He didn't call them more than 3 times... Therefore, he knew that his friend was awake and has already started to ooze charm in big buckets over the susceptible nurses.

When Peter entered the hospital room, he heard Neal telling in that ridiculous French accent how he had been thrown into a trunk and been held at gunpoint later on.

It sounded like a an exciting adventure and the agent couldn't help being infuriated. 'Which leads me to the question, Father, why did you visit that suspected criminal on your own instead of sticking to the plan we agreed?'

Every other person in full command of his mental faculties would have cringed being confronted in that icy authoritative voice – as such trying to soothe the waters. Not Neal Caffrey though. The ex-criminal started to beam at the agent, a radiant smile on his face. (Peter could have sworn that the con man was able to intensify the blue of his iris on demand .) 'Peter, you saved me. Again! I just knew I can count on you. God bless you!'

Even though his was a bit much, the agent couldn't help but smile. Whatever! He was just glad to find Neal alive and obviously well rather than deadly injured...

They have talked for almost an hour when another visitor turned up. A hawk-like man with stern, even piercing eyes entered the room. Neal seemed to pale instantly, the laughing was gone in a moment.

The agent watched the scenery with keen interest. It almost seemed as if the ex-con man was fidgeting. He was bursting to gossip about this with El.

The new visitor addressed the patient quite formally. 'Father Denis, I was informed by my assistant in the diocese that you've been involved in a shooting. I was told you fell victim to a violent criminal. I came to ascertain that you're on your on the way of recovery and bring you well-wishes from the congregation.'

Neal relaxed visibly hearing these words. 'Thank you, Bishop Dolan. It will take a while but I'm not complaining. By the grace of God I have been saved and I am very thankful for his blessing.'

However, the bishop hasn't been finished yet. 'However, I'd like to gain some insight what business led you into this perilous situation and the company of thieves and murderers. I hope you can enlighten me, Father!'

Peter Burke couldn't deny that the bishop commanded respect. By all appearances, Neal Caffrey has met a worthy opponent who wasn't prone to sweet-talk. The agent was thinking hard whether he had met the Bishop before. He was almost certain that their paths hadn't crossed so far, but something seemed familiar about the clergy.

The FBI agent edged himself into the conversation, reassuring the bishop that Father Jardin had been unaware of the criminal environment and was caught up in a dangerous situation through no fault of his own.

Peter had to smile. _I'm not only lying to a priest, but a bishop now – without the slightest pang of conscience_. The company of Neal Caffrey had rubbed off on him, no doubt about that.

After a while, Bishop Dolan addressed the FBI agent. 'Agent Burke, thanks for your support. Don't let me keep you from your work any longer. It was nice meeting you.'

It has been a while since the ASAC has been dismissed so bluntly. Ignoring Neal's silent pleas to stay, Peter prepared to leave. As much as he would have loved to watch the bishop grilling Neal, he was also looking forward to seeing his own son who had returned home this afternoon.

Burke was walking down the corridor, still pondering about the bishop. No, he was positive that he had never met the Bishop before. However, his name was ringing a bell, plus there was something familiar in that person. He has almost reached the car when he remembered a story his former boss, Hughes, had shared with him a long time ago.

Suddenly, all the pieces of information linked up and it made actually sense. Peter couldn't help laughing. That was too good to be true! He was curious to learn more from Neal tomorrow about that visit.


	16. Family Ties

Once the two men were alone, the Bishop sat as stiff as a statue looking squarely into Neal's eyes. He didn't say a single word. The silence in the room was oppressive.

The ex-con man was fully aware that the Bishop was up to something. However, Neal was acquainted with all sorts of interrogation techniques, actually by applying them and by being grilled himself. It needed more than awkward silence to intimidate him or make him falter. He flashed an indulgent smile, settled back in his hospital bed, and waited it out.

Caffrey claimed the victory in the gazing battle when the Bishop broke the silence. As per common knowledge the one who wasn't tough enough to keep up with ongoing silence was at a disadvantage.

The Bishop began narrating the legend of a Saint. 'Saint Denis was a very impressive man of the church. Well, I guess you know that already... '

Neal nodded, slightly confused. He hadn't expected the Bishop to lecture him on church history; he didn't feel any verbal response was expected though.

The older man went on with his tale. 'After being arrested and imprisoned for a long time, Saint Denis was killed. Beheaded actually. Very unpleasant experience if you'd ask me. However, even though a lot of people saw him dying, Saint Denis picked up his head and came back. Apparently, he was so enchanted by his home town, Paris, that even death couldn't keep him from returning. Down to the present day he is known as a patron saint to all those people suffering from headache as well as from pangs of conscience. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?'

Caffrey was stunned. How much did the clergy know about his real identity? Should this tale be a hint to his own biography? He decided to act indifferent, not giving away anything - just in case the other man was only fishing for information. 'Why yes! I know the story of my namesake patron saint. It is a well known legend back in France if that answers your question.'

Bishop Dolan sneered. 'I conceived that you, suffering from a concussion, would understand the headache part of the story.'

A slight pause ensued before he continued. 'Plus loving a town so much that you can't help but coming back even if everyone assumes you are dead - that might sound familiar to you as well, or the imprisonment, pangs of conscience...'

Neal's mind was running at full speed. _He was busted. How could that have happened? What were the consequences? How to react? Trapped in a hospital, too injured to run, how should he get out of this?_

While he was still weighing the pros and cons of different moves to counter the Bishop's opening the clergy hasn't finished yet.

'You can't bargain with the truth. You know what you've done as well where you belong in the end. I assume your friend Father Denis Jardin, the real one of course, hasn't told you that we both spent two years together studying at the Vatican. I have always enjoyed his dry sense of humor and liberal construction of the church law. Doing the right things has always been considerably higher on his list of priorities than just being righteous. Moreover, his company was way more fun than the average clergy member. He has never missed an opportunity to a good-humored prank.'

Neal couldn't believe his ears. _He has been set up by his good friend! He didn't see that coming. Maybe he has become sloppy over the years? Being played by a priest and a bishop was no record of success._ Fortunately, the bishop seemed to be amused rather than planning any retaliation. Now that his cover was blown, the false priest dared to ask the other man how much he really knew. They chatted animatedly about half an hour.

Denis Jardin had sought the bishop's approval before starting the identity swap. The New York based clergy had been skeptical at first. It was an unusual way of proceeding to put it mildly. Impersonating a priest in the first place was more than uncommon, and not lawful strictly speaking. The imposter being a convicted criminal wasn't particularly helpful.

Once Bishop Dolan had realized that his French friend needed a few weeks off the record to take care of personal matters, he started to show more sensitivity towards the plan.

There was still the fact left that Neal Caffrey has been a felon with a long criminal record though. But after looking into the con man's biography, the Bishop figured he knew one of Caffrey's character witness quite well. Accordingly, he discussed the matter with his brother.

Neal was puzzled. 'I wasn't aware that I know your brother. I can't recall knowing anyone by the name of Dolan good enough to serve as a character witness. I'm nevertheless glad your sibling spoke in my favor.'

Bishop Dolan obviously enjoyed the conversation. 'I should add that he is my step-brother. Therefore, we don't share the same family name. In our family we keep an old tradition of sons going either into church or law service. My generation carried on with that tradition. Let me drop a clue! I was told that you are doing elaborate research before taking on a job. Do you recall the name of the very first Archbishop of the Archdiocese of New York?'

Caffrey turned pale. Needless to say, he had done his homework. He knew the names and times of service of every bishop who had ever served in New York - yet he had failed to see the connection. He recited in a strained voice facts he memorized weeks ago. 'Hughes. John Joseph Hughes. He became an archbishop on July 19, 1850, when the diocese was elevated to the status of archdiocese by Pope Pius IX. Bishop Hughes served as archbishop until his death in 1864.'

Now, there was no denying that the bishop grinned. 'Reese told me that you have some difficulties with sticking to the rules, furthermore lacking respect for authorities in general. On the other hand, you seemed to have stayed out of criminal activities for quite a while and helped serving justice when working for the FBI. Reese called you a _real son of a bitch. But the best one he has ever seen._ His words, not mine! So, I thought it might be worth taking the risk to agree to Denis' plan.'

Reese Hughes had retired many years ago, spending his time as a devoted grandfather ever since. He enjoyed the time with the grandchildren tremendously - something, he failed to do while his own children had been young, being too engrossed in work. Even so, he was surprisingly well informed about anything going on at the Bureau. He has stayed in touch with Peter Burke and other senior agents all the time. As a matter of fact, he has maintained powerful connections to FBI senior ranks in Washington. When the Pink Panthers were brought down, he got an in-depth report.

Knowing Neal Caffrey, Reese Hughes had always nurtured a shred of hope that the con man only faked his death. Therefore, he was pleasantly surprised being asked by his step-brother about the very same Neal Caffrey who was obviously alive and still up to mischief.

The Bishop was preparing to leave. 'Much to my regret I assume that after your injuries are healed you will have to head back to France. The news about the brave priest being held at gunpoint has already aroused some interest. We don't want any reporter digging into this story, right? It would be better if you lay low during your recovery. I talked to your doctors. It should take about 2 weeks until you're fit enough to undertake the long-distance flight back to Europe. My secretary will take care of the necessary arrangements.'

Once Neal was alone, he dwelled on thoughts. He couldn't deny that he has felt more alive during the past few weeks in New York than all those years in exile. He understood that Father Denis Jardin had to return to Europe.

He took comfort from the fact that he had still 2 weeks to come up with an idea how Neal Caffrey might be able to return home for good...

 **Prequel – Some background material concerning the Hughes/Dolan genealogy**

To quote Albert Einstein... _Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous._

It has been love at first sight. The moment Rose Hughes looked into the sparkling blue eyes of the tall, slim lawyer with thick dark hair she was lost. It felt like butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A whirlwind romance ensued with mutual oaths of eternal love leading to a marriage proposal in just 3 months.

Rose was a sweet 18 year old girl, the youngest child, only daughter born into a wealthy Roman-Catholic family. Her uncles were judges, priests or district attorneys. Her father was actually the current Police Commissioner.

Her lover's parents on the other hand were poor Irish immigrants. He has never finished school, leave alone attended college. The handsome boy learned soon how to trick people to make a quick buck. The concept of hart work and eating his bread in the sweat of his face held no appeal to him. His own father only called him scoundrel or good-for-nothing. Accordingly, the strict father threw him out at the age of 15. From then on, the young boy lived on the streets, sub-lodging in tenements or finding shelter at a benefactor, usually a single, elderly lady. He cultivated good manners, picked up refined speech and improved his education by reading newspapers and books. Thus, he grew up and turned into a handsome, eloquent good-for-nothing.

Introducing himself as a lawyer to Rose was a con intended to siphon off her money, possibly take a bit of jewelry and run. He had no plans, whatsoever, to fall in love with her. But these things happen even to the best con men!

For a few happy months he has impersonated a successful lawyer, conning even Rose's skeptical family. However, in a moment of clarity he got his head around the fact that he wouldn't be able to pretend for the next 50 years being a successful lawyer. The unpleasant truth would come out sooner rather than later. The young good-for-nothing has tried to ignore reality for a long time; yet finally he bowed to the inevitable. So, he did the one thing he was really good at. He ran.

That was the reason why Rose Hughes waited in vain for her fiance at the altar in the extravagantly decorated St. Patrick's Cathedral, dressed in the family's heirloom wedding gown. Her father, as well as all four brothers, fumed and swore to take revenge, bring the scoundrel down who had dumped sweet-natured Rose on her wedding day.

Even with the support of the whole police force of New York the Police Commissioner wasn't able to track down the fugitive. They didn't leave a stone unturned, pulled every string.

However, the con man was gone, left the city for good. He moved to the other side of the country, just to make sure. He knew that the complete New York law enforcement, including police and district attorney's office was determined to hunt him down. So he had to cut of all ties to New York. That bridge was burned and would never be crossed again.

Rose Hughes remained in Manhattan. Heartbroken, unable to make sense of what has happened, yet 2 months pregnant.

Unwanted pregnancies were unwanted but not uncommon in those times. A pregnant girl of her class would usually be sent to Europe by her family. Everyone at home would be told the story of the girl finishing her education. The pregnant girl would stay in a foreign village until the child was born under a false name. The child, together with a bucket full of money, would be handed over to a caring family and never again been heard of.

Rose refused steadfastly to give up her child for adoption though. That caused, of course, a small scandal, numerous mental breakdowns of her mother as well as shouting and yelling by her father. When the storm has settled down, thanks to Rose's stubbornness plus her family's loving support, she gave birth to Reese Hughes, raising him as a single mom.

A few years later Rose fell in love again. No whirlwind this time, no butterflies, no crazy oath of love yet a deep, caring love lasting many decades for better or worse. After she married Francis Dolan, Reese got a bunch of sisters and a kid brother forming a big, stable family.

Rose Hughes-Dolan passed away many years ago. But if she had been able to watch her son talking to the blue-eyed man with the thick curly hair, she would have laughed with all her heart.

 **AN:** Only one chapter to go. Yeah! Will be posted early next year.


	17. Byron's Legacy

Peter watched Neal's movements skeptically. 'Are you sure that you don't want to stay with us for the next few days? El would love to have you over. These stairs... I have no idea how you plan to manage them.'

After spending 5 days in a busy hospital, bound to the tight schedule of eating, inpatient care plus medical examinations Neal had no intentions at all to stay with the Burkes or their son who was a bundle of energy and chatter. As much as he appreciated their loving home and caring family he was looking forward to quiet solitude. 'I'm fine. These stairs will be my daily physical therapy.'

Having said that, he hobbled slowly upstairs. It took a bit of practice to work out how to climb stair by stair with only one crutch. Using two crutches would have made the endeavor easier. Due to his injured shoulder, that was no option, though.

Peter grumbled under his breath. 'He's fine. Sure thing. Why did I even ask? Invincible con men don't know any obstacles like common people...' However, he carried Neal's luggage and stayed close behind him on the stairs, just in case his friend might stumble or needed a hand.

June hasn't been released from the hospital yet; but she should be home in a few days, too. Elizabeth has seen to it that the fridge was stocked with precooked meals as well as fresh groceries, the room was aired and art books available as reading material.

Climbing the stairs has been a vigorous exercise. The strain was written in Neal's face when he finally collapsed into a deck chair on the rooftop terrace. Nevertheless, being back home was worth the trouble. This was his safe harbor and he needed a bit of moral support for the conversation he was going to have. 'Peter, do you have to head home right away? If not, I'd like to talk to you.'

Burke tried to conceal his surprise. Neal sounded serious... What was he up to? 'Wait I'll be with you in a moment. I'll get you a glass of water. Then we can talk.'

Neal had mulled over his situation. Manhattan was the only place in the world where he wanted to be, where he felt home. Traveling the world had been nice in the beginning. Now, he just felt sick and tired of it. He ran his ideas by Mozzie, trying to problem-solve. Moz has been quite creative, jumping into full planning mode there and then. He concocted elaborate cons allowing his friend to return to New York in various disguises.

However, in the end, Caffrey came up with a very bold idea on this own. 'Peter, I'm going to do something I've never done before but I will need your help plus, quite likely, some heavy bureaucratic arm wrestling...'

Neal took a deep breath before he stated his intentions. 'I want to come clean.'

The FBI agent was amazed. 'Wow. Never thought I'd lived the day to hear you saying these words...Wonders will never cease. I assume you're not about to give a full confession of all your previous criminal achievements. So I'm all ears. What's this about then?'

Neal started to outline his plan. 'I want to come back to New York for good - as Neal Caffrey. I don't want to use any disguise, always being at risk to meet someone who knew me as Nick Halden, Steve Tabernacle, Denis Jardin, or any other alias. I don't want to run anymore, not from you and not from any obscure business partner. I want to build a home, settle down with my family and friends living nearby, without fake passports stashed in a hidden go-bag.'

At the sight of Peter's mocking look, Neal had to chuckle. 'Okay, maybe not more than one fake passport just for good measure. But seriously, do you think it's feasible?'

The FBI agent took a moment to think it over instead of rushing into making empty promises. 'It will be challenging. Let's see... The contract Mozzie had worked out for you – your freedom for bringing the Pink Panthers down – that was pretty waterproof. I remember some weird sentence about not even death ending the pact. Yet there is still the fact that you feigned your own death in a pretty melodramatic way. We will have to call in quite a few favors. It's good to know some people in Washington who are pulling the strings. So yes, I guess it's going to be difficult though not impossible.'

Peter was intrigued with the idea. As brazen as his ex-CI had been at times, he had made a lot of friends while working for the FBI. A lot of people have been more than grateful for his offbeat ways to solve crimes. Rescuing a diplomat's son from imprisonment in Burma has only been one of these deeds that might prove to be useful.

The agent was curious. 'How, do you plan to earn your living? Bread and butter, caviar, wine, Armani suits... You know these things don't come for free!'

Neal has given that issue a serious consideration. 'Art projects. I'm going to conduct art projects as a service. I've enjoyed running the Graffiti project. I can sit for hours planning the realization, discuss with the kids how to do it, draw sketches - not because I want to impress anyone, but for the sheer joy of it. My passion is in art, any kind of art. You can't deny I'm a people person. Plus, I thrive on making impossible things possible, like making rogue teenagers create beautiful Graffiti on the wall of a charity home. All things considered, this is the next best thing I like doing and am good at doing.'

Peter interrupted his monolog. 'The next best thing? Since when do you settle for second best?'

Neal smirked and hit back. 'The only other occupation I enjoy with the same passion and have a proven success record with is jewelry heist. I thought you'd prefer the art project career aspirations.'

The FBI agent had to agree. 'Very considerate thought. I do appreciate your decision to stay on the right side of the law. However, I'm afraid your art projects might pay for bread, even butter, but not for the more refined taste you've cultivated.'

The ex-con man smiled. 'Charity organizations will only be able to pay minimum fees, that's true. However, I can offer team building events for blue chip corporations. You know, like creating a huge pop art mash-up with managers – the art will decorate the office wall whereas the creation makes people work together as one team. Watercolor workshops to paint the Chrysler Building for bored trust fund babies. Artsy scavenger hunts for trophy wives. There is a lot of money to make with these pretentious projects and I have not the slightest qualm to take it. All legit, of course.'

Peter Burke's first passion has been professional baseball. At one point in his life, he made the decision to quit playing to pursue a different career. The decision had been made with valid reason – though if he hadn't been hurt, he would have kept playing. Turning into a federal agent had been a rocky path yet one he didn't regret taking.

To put it in a nutshell, Peter knew where Neal was coming from. He also knew it was possible to give your life a new direction. Furthermore, so far Caffrey has almost mastered everything he had set his heart on. Both men started to plan how to approach various people and institutions to get support for the ambitious scheme.

*** A few days later ***

June has returned home this morning, still weak and needing home care. Therefore, Neal had found a skilled yet friendly live-in nurse for her. He understood how eager she was to move back into her home. They both shared a mutual dislike for hospitals.

After taking some rest, the old lady enjoyed her afternoon tea with Neal. 'Such a shame that you have to go back to France next week, my dear. I will miss you and your amiable company. This house is not the same without you.'

Her house guest smiled mischievously. 'Father Denis Jardin will return to his flock. The bishop's office called twice to confirm that I've got my ticket and offered transfer services to the airport. Neal Caffrey, on the other hand, might come back in a month. Oh, by the way, he needs a place to stay...'

June gave him an inviting smile. 'Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you like. It will be my pleasure!'

Neal wasn't surprised by the offer; he was nevertheless touched by her unreserved friendship. 'Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like without you. Then I thank God I only have to wonder.'

By all appearances, Caffrey's return to New York was down to a matter of time rather than principle.

Agent Burke had pulled his weight, holding a few high-level conversations behind closed doors. A few guys, both in New York and Washington, owed him a favor or two. As might be expected, the information about Neal Caffrey coming back from the dead, asking for commutation of his sentence, caused an uproar.

The agents who had worked together with Caffrey in the New York White Collar division have all spoken in his favor. Many well-known individuals outside of the Bureau did the same - people who were still grateful to the former CI going above and beyond the call of duty. Most of them were living proof that Caffrey's offbeat ways paid off.

However, the talks got stuck when an unknown FBI higher-up brought his influence to bear in order to press charges against the former CI for feigning death and deceiving the Bureau. Though Peter had no evidence, he was quite sure that Agent Kramer was behind this intrigue.

It was Reese Hughes who gave good advice. 'Call Kramer! Tell him I still have the Gardner Museum art heist files. The complete report, including the pages that went missing as well as copies of the evidence that has never found its way into the archives. That should effect a change of attitude.'

And it did. Even though Hughes wasn't willing to disclose any details about that case, Peter had called Kramer to relay the message. The very next day, Burke got the green light from Washington to make the necessary arrangements. It would take a few more weeks to set up the paperwork and overcome some administrative barriers, yet it was only a matter of time.

Neal Caffrey would then be allowed to enter the US just as every other expatriate who returned home. Neal George Caffrey could finally come home to New York.

June was pleased to learn that her young tenant would be gone for a short while only.

She has already expressed her profound thanks for helping to clear Byron's name but nevertheless, she thanked Neal once again for his help.

Her friend won't hear about it. 'It was my pleasure - I've told you before. In the name of all con men, I couldn't let Byron's good reputation be blackened. It was my honor to save his legacy.'

June's eyes started to sparkle. 'You're a good man, Neal Caffrey. Speaking of Byron's legacy reminds me I wanted to share something with you... I promised to show you the extraordinary painting Byron gave me as a Christmas present. Do you remember? The one he commissioned Beth to forge and, later on, switched for the real one.'

Neal recalled the chat in the hospital quite well. 'I'd love to see it, and the forgery as well. I guess it was an awesome forgery but I bet I could still tell the difference.'

If it hadn't been June, one would have thought she was giggling. Though Neal couldn't image the well-mannered lady doing something profane as giggling. There was positively a certain amusement in her voice. 'As I've told you before, even a mastermind as ingenious as you would have been fooled. See for yourself! Please, could you bring me the Van Gogh replica hanging next to the French door? I want to show you the legacy Byron left me.'

Neal was startled. The Van Gogh was nicely done but not an expert forgery by far. There had to be more since he knew June wouldn't be fobbed off so easily.

Once he had handed her the painting, she turned it around. With a practiced hand, she opened the backside of the frame. It was a special frame that could be opened without the need of tools within moments. There was another painting hidden in the frame. Actually, you could use the frame both ways so that the other painting was displayed appropriately in the frame. You could even hang it on the wall that way.

All the while she was working on the frame she was talking about the painting. 'You know, it was really a folly... But I fell in love with this painting a long time ago, Byron and I have been newly married. We went for a short trip to Washington. I spent hours in front of the art in the National Museum after I've spotted it. When we had to leave for New York, Byron promised that one day he would get it for me. I thought it was a joke. Well, at least, I hoped it was one. Oh Byron, he was crazy. Years later, when I unwrapped my Christmas present, he told me he would do everything to make me happy. It was his way to show his love and probably impress me. He was a rascal!'

Neal stared at the framed piece of art and June in turns. He has turned pale. 'No! That's just not possible. Tell me it's a joke!'

His landlady enjoyed his bewilderment. 'Of course not! It's not a joke. Please, take a closer look. This is a real Raphael. _St. George and the Dragon_. I just love it. It's small but full of passion. I'm so glad to have it.'

Caffrey tried to make sense of the words. It caused him difficulties. 'If that's... But how? If he took it in the 80s or 90s, then...'

June helped him to conclude the sentence because he seemed to have lost the thread. 'Well, then you might have stolen Queenie's forgery a few years ago. On top of that, you stated your professional assessment to Sterling Bosch that the forgery were the real Raphael. No-one doubted your expertise. You even staked your reputation on it if Peter didn't lie to me.'

Finally, Neal Caffrey burst out laughing. He has always appreciated a good con – without a shadow of doubt, this was a masterful one. Honor to whom honor is due. He had to pay June and Byron respect. 'I love his legacy. The Raphael seems to be the perfect pledge of love – no matter if it's the real one or the forgery.'

June took his hand, speaking with a soft but intense voice. 'I want to pass this legacy on to you when I will have to leave. You are the only person I know who will cherish the painting with the same love as I do. Therefore, I made an addendum to my will stating that I bestow this little framed Van Gogh replica to you.'

Neal was overwhelmed. 'Thanks for all your generous love and thanks for all the fun. There is no hurry to pass it on to me. Though if the day will come, I will honor your gift.'

And then, all was said and done.

 **AN:**

Happy New Year!

I wish you for 2016 good friends like Neal has - crazy friends like Mozzie, reliable friends like Peter, fairy godmother friends like June.  
Enjoy life and remember – there is always a way out!

And thanks for reading my story right through the end. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
